


Crossfire

by doomcake



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003), Drama, Gen, Hurt Ed, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Politics, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Suspense, Violence, hurt Roy, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-12-15
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcake/pseuds/doomcake
Summary: Ed and Al return to Amestris in what appears to be a freak accident involving the Gate, and not even Roy Mustang, recently appointed as Minister of Defense, can keep the Elrics out of the political crossfire.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> 2017 NOTES:  
> One of many incomplete fics in my repertoire. I still hope to revisit this at some point, especially since FMA is still one of my all-time favorite series (though I'm much more in love with the manga/Brotherhood canon, and this is a definite '03-canon story).  
>   
> I'm sorry, Ed, my dude, but this is gonna suck for you.  
>   
> Also, this is currently classified as gen, though (if I do write more) pairings might happen later on as a side thing.

It seemed to Edward Elric that every time he passed through the Gate, it had some new Truth to add to what he had learned the previous trip through its hazardous passage. He subconsciously contributed this to the fact that the worlds that the Gate sat between were each constantly changing. Not much of the Truth ever stuck once he'd made it through, but he was reminded of it each and every time he stood before the carved gray stone doors.

 

This time, though, he hadn't honestly meant to summon the Gate. He thought he had destroyed this side of the Gate, and that Mustang had done his job on the other end like Al had told him he would. Bastard had probably either chickened out, or his scientist's mind would have taken over and insisted that he learned more about it before he had it destroyed. Besides, it should have been impossible for anyone on this side to summon it – it required a taboo alchemic reaction on the other side in order for it to appear, with human transmutation as the catalyst. Simultaneously, there should have been a circle on their side, along with a sacrifice to the Gate and the blood of a human who had already passed through it. At least, that had been the norm for every other Gate appearance that Ed knew of.

 

All he knew this time was that the Gate-dwellers had his younger brother back in their clutches, and Ed wasn't about to let it get away with stealing his brother away from him again without cause or reason. What the hell had they done wrong this time – save from disobeying a blatantly corrupt government by smuggling a gypsy out of its clutches – anyway? For a brief moment, he wondered if the Gate had decided that Al hadn't paid for his body in full, and was back for the past dues. But Sloth – their mother's body with a homunculus' soulless conscience – had been sent back to where it belonged; the payment was moot now, was it not? In that case, the Gate actually _owed_ Ed his leg back, at the very least. Come to think of it, now that Al's body and soul were reunited again, shouldn't he have his arm back as well?

 

_This is impossible_ , he kept telling himself, still trying desperately to come up with a reason for the Gate's return. If he could find a reason, he could find a way around it. Thus far, he had come up empty-handed.

 

Alphonse was calling to him, voice reaching a high-pitched, panicked tone that Edward hadn't heard from his brother since they were children. It brought back a memory of his brother as a ten-year-old, when they both saw that accursed Gate for the first time, and the first time it had extracted payment from the both of them.

 

_No_. This wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let it.

 

Edward reached out with an angry roar, and this time he didn't miss his brother's outstretched arm. Flesh fingers curling around his brother's wrist, his brother returned the gesture, but before Ed could muscle them both away from the Gate's open doors and greedy arms, they were pulled inside the passageway filled with black-bodied, wide-eyed Gate-creatures.

 

And then Edward again knew the Truth: they hadn't initiated the Gate's appearance; someone on the other side was bringing them back. The toll had already been paid, and the Gate would deliver as promised to the ( _probably dead_ ) fool who had dared summon it.

 

Ed couldn't imagine anyone who would have done something so idiotic – after all the Elric brothers had been through, after what Ed had learned about the Gate's true nature, after Eckhart's invasion that had destroyed nearly all of Central and parts of Lior… there should have been precautions made in order for nothing like that to  _ever_  happen again.

 

This was somehow Mustang's fault, Ed decided. It didn't matter if Mustang wasn't the one behind the reaction – he was still at fault. But before Edward could come up with several choice words that he would no doubt shove in the bastard's face when he got the chance, the other end of the Gate opened wide.

 

Much like coming to the end of a long train tunnel, the world flooded with bright white light, and when that faded, Ed blinked and realized that he was staring blearily up into a bright blue sky dotted with clouds, and that it was a surprisingly beautiful day. Head heavy, ears ringing with echoed whispers of now-forgotten Truth and a body aching from abuse delivered by disembodied hands, he blinked and slowly turned his head to see that Alphonse was unconscious beside him, but from a glance looked unharmed. Beyond his brother stood a very familiar white building whose entrance was still adorned with a green banner. They were in Central, back in Amestris – not Europe.

 

_Home_.

 

Edward blinked again, trying to figure out how exactly they'd managed to end up there, in the middle of a street in broad daylight. Surely nobody was so stupid as to try to summon them back  _here_  in such a public–

 

There was chalk on the ground, crisp white lines and intricate symbols spreading under and around both Elrics. Though it had been years since Ed had cracked a single book on alchemy – something so useless in the world on the other side of the Gate, especially once the Thule Society had dissolved – he had little trouble recognizing the design. Someone really had brought them back. Intentionally, even.

 

_And whoever is responsible is dumb as fuck_ –

 

The ringing in his ears slowly faded, and Ed suddenly realized that he could hear murmuring voices all around him that  _didn't_  belong to Gate-creatures. A large number, if he wasn't mistaken, and they sounded surprised. Rolling painfully on his side and trying to push himself up – his head spun horribly at the motion – he saw through double vision that the entire road in front of the military headquarters had been blocked off by a short, concrete barrier, and beyond that stood countless numbers of crisply-pressed blue uniforms.

 

A demonstration. They were in the middle of a demonstration for the Amestrian military. Edward had done something like this before for renewing his certification as a National Alchemist, but that had been in the East, and it had been years since he'd challenged Roy Mustang to an alchemy battle. The sound of booted feet pounding against the pavement finally registered, and – speak of the bastard – wasn't that him approaching them at a run?

 

_What the_ fuck  _did you do to us, Mustang?_

 

But Roy Mustang – both of them – looked just as surprised as everyone else sounded. Ed almost commented that between two of them, at least they had one good pair of eyes.

 

" _Fullmetal_?!"

 

It was the last thing Ed heard before a stab of sharp pain pierced his head, and stars exploded in his vision as Central and the military and all Roy Mustangs faded from sight and memory.

 

 

 

 

 

The task wasn't originally supposed to land on Colonel Edward Elric's desk. In fact, it was supposed to be something that was delegated out to one of his hand-picked, brand new subordinates, but somehow managed to find its way into his hands regardless. Ed had cracked under the wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights stares his staff had given him when he'd mentioned it. He couldn't simply  _make_  one of them do it alone – no matter that he really did have the authority, he just didn't have the heart – and he had a sneaking suspicion that a  _certain bastardly someone_ had anticipated that. Despite his very new rank, or perhaps because of said promotion, he had to comply.

 

He had been shown his office for the first time the morning that assignment landed on his freshly-polished oak desk, in fact. And he had been told that he didn't have a say in the matter. Which he didn't, really, once he thought about it. He was still reeling from the fact that they'd actually ended up back in Amestris again after four years in that alternate world across a very greedy Gate (which should have been destroyed, come to think of it). That had been what, a week ago? Mustang moved so damn fast – Ed had barely opened his eyes in the hospital when he was informed that the "bastard Colonel" was now the "bastard Minister of Defense" under Amestris' new rule. Government reconstruction or some such; the title did give Mustang more power than any other military subordinate. He still had to answer to both Parliament and the Prime Minister.

 

Well. That was fine and dandy; Mustang pretty much got what he wanted. Edward had also technically gotten his wish – Alphonse had his body back, and they'd both returned to Amestris (almost) whole and (mostly) well – but it wasn't the same thing. Unlike Mustang, Ed's life ambition had not been to gain power through alchemy, regardless of Mustang's claims to want to use that power for something damned noble ( _bastard_ ). That sounded too much like his father for his tastes; he'd much rather spend the rest of his life with a more peaceful – and  _useful_ – practice of alchemy. Maybe somewhere where the military – or Parliament, for that matter – couldn't reach him. The country sounded nice right about now.

 

Oh no, but he'd had the  _damned_ bad luck of the Gate dumping both him and his brother back into the heart of Central City. In front of the old main military headquarters, irony of ironies, and in front of a huge group of national alchemists and other higher-ups. In a place where nobody could deny that some sort of taboo alchemy was responsible for both his return and the return of his younger brother. Someone had it out for him in the Gate, Ed was convinced.

 

And Mustang had it out for him too, already prepared with work for him as if the bastard had anticipated their return long before it happened. Once Edward and his brother were both released from the hospital after a day spent under the doctors' microscopes – Ed forced them to order their release on his insistence that he was " _fine, damn it_ " – and under the military's microscopes for three more days of questioning, Ed realized that Mustang's inference to his renewed military conscription was actually official. Al hadn't yet been forced into a contract, but Ed had a sinking suspicion that Mustang had a few more cards up his sleeve to put his brother's talents under his ever-growing fiery thumb as well.

 

The Elric brothers were back to make history, it seemed. And Ed was rather irritated that not only had he been roped back into the military and stuck under Mustang's thumb without missing a beat, but he had also hardly been given a chance to get his automail back. The last set of automail that Winry had equipped him with had taken a lot of damage in a rather bad scuffle over the uranium bomb that Huskisson had taken across the Gate with him; never mind the fact that it hadn't been properly serviced in  _years_. He'd gone back to the prosthetics that his father had designed, but that was more suited to a simple rocket scientist's line of work. The technology from the alternate world was nothing in comparison to the pristinely high quality of Rockbell automail for an  _alchemist_ , especially one with a military rank. His request to be given at least enough time to track down Winry Rockbell and obtain new automail had been delayed; he'd been told he could call after her, but he was not to leave Central until the investigation after the Elrics' return was complete. Nobody had picked up at the Rockbell's place in Rizembul when Ed had called, which offhandedly surprised him, but he put all thoughts regarding the issue to the back of his mind. He couldn't do anything about it anyway.

 

Well, damn. No wonder his head was spinning; all that bad luck that had landed both Elrics back to their homeland successfully, and not a week later he'd already been questioned half to death about something that – for once – wasn't his fault, stuffed into a starched-stiff uniform with way too many flashy rank bars that entitled him to a staff that didn't even know him, tossed into a cell of an office, and told to play the good host to the emissaries from Xing, all with shoddy prosthetics and a serious headache. Oh, and if he didn't do as he was told, Mustang had strongly implied that Alphonse Elric might very well be joining him in the dog pen. He hadn't said that directly, of course – Mustang and direct didn't belong in the same sentence, unless it was used in a negative context – but he hadn't needed to.

 

_Fucking conniving asshole_.

 

Ed sighed as he glared down at the accursed file of mission details. There had been an espionage problem, and Xing was the primary culprit on three counts in which the spies had been caught. They were after alchemy-related secrets of some sort, though the files had not indicated what exactly they were looking for, other than that the jeopardized information was located in the Central Library. The emissaries from Xing were on a mission to smooth the situation over in a more diplomatic manner, ensuring that the two countries wouldn't resort to arms over the mess. This meant that Edward's role had gone from being a colonel to a diplomat in one fucking day. Never mind the fact that he'd barely been a colonel for a week, if that.

 

Typically, Ed knew he would never have to play the role of a diplomat, but he figured out rather quickly why he had been singled out for the task. Most of the diplomats under Parliament had little knowledge of science, much less alchemy, and were more interested in politics. The situation needed someone who was knowledgeable on the subject in question, but also someone who might not necessarily be able to offer up important state secrets. Edward was a renowned national alchemist, thus his reputation would appease the Xing emissaries' desire for any surface knowledge of alchemy. At the same time, Ed had also been gone for a number of years, and in theory, had not been studying alchemy during that time, and so he would be a safe choice for someone who would not only avoid giving away state secrets, but would also be  _unable_  to. All in theory, of course, and Mustang  _knew_ that.

 

Ed was  _not_  in the mood for this, not yet. Maybe he shouldn't have checked himself out of the hospital so soon – he still wasn't sure what the Gate might have taken this time through, after all, and he could be the walking dead for all he knew. What if the Gate still had a price on his head?

 

His hand closed around the stack of papers sitting on his desk.  _Damn it all._  With a resigned sigh, he flopped down into the leather office chair – at least there were a few perks to his new position – and began thumbing through the file, looking for any particular cultural or political notes he should have regarding Xing's relationship with Amestris during the years he'd been absent. Research was still his forte; he was able to do at least that much on the other side of the Gate. There were also documents on Xing's cultural practices, and any other important information he would need to have on how to deal with the emissaries properly and respectfully.

 

Ed had barely made it to the second page of the stack when he heard a timid knock at his door.

 

"Come in," Ed called, not looking up from the file.

 

"Excuse the intrusion, Colonel Elric, sir. I have the research notes you requested," his young assistant informed him once he'd timidly opened the door.

 

"Just stick it on my desk, Murray," Ed replied. Murray nodded and approached his desk, quietly placed the file on Ed's desk, and turned and walked (rather quickly) out the door. Ed sniffed; he wasn't that frightening, was he?

 

He sighed, wondering if Mustang had gone through the same process when he'd first received the same title Ed now had. He was going to have to teach his staff how to be more assertive, quite frankly, and he needed to begin building some semblance of trust. He felt like he was walking on damn eggshells, even in his own office. He knew he could likely trust his underlings – they had been hand-picked by Mustang, apparently – but they had yet to start trusting Edward back. Maybe he should have asked if Russell Tringham was still in the military; if the once-impostor was of a lower rank, perhaps he could be moved to Ed's office. But even so, Russell wouldn't let him live down his newly acquired  _legend_  status – which, apparently, was at least one step ahead of a  _famed_  status.

 

Damn it, it wasn't  _his_  fault he'd practically become legend during his years as a national alchemist under Bradley's rule, and that his legend had become even more...  _legendary_  upon his return. Hell, he hadn't even come back by choice – one moment, he and Al had just been celebrating the fact that they'd managed to smuggle Noa out of German territory with little trouble (Ed didn't count getting himself stabbed in the thigh during a stupid scuffle with stupid road bandits as trouble, even if Alphonse did; besides, that had already – mostly – healed) and the next moment they'd found themselves staring at the Gate, which ultimately landed them back in Amestris with little to no warning.

 

They hadn't even done anything wrong this time, unless the Gate somehow sided with Nazi racial policy enforcement. Doubtful, but Ed couldn't help but entertain the thought. From what he could tell in terms of the  _types_  of questions being asked during his brief interview with Mustang over the issue, something had gone incredibly amiss at a demonstration serving as the requirement for one national alchemist's certification renewal. Whatever the alchemist had been attempting to do, it couldn't have been a very good thing. It was certainly illegal by most standards; not quite on par with raising the dead, but close enough. And in the end, it became glaringly obvious that for once, the Elrics had nothing to do with the Gate's reappearance, which was why Ed suspected they had been so quickly released from immediate supervision.

 

Except for the "house arrest" bit. That was something Ed planned to speak with Mustang about, especially if he was to go on this so-called mission. Bad prosthetics and the inability to go outside Central if necessary? Not good, for someone who wanted to appear as a strong – and yet amiable – host, and still had to make sure nothing happened to the Xingian guests while they were in town. Whoever had chosen  _him_  as the middleman probably wanted to start a war with Xing at this rate.

 

Ed stared blankly at a sheet of paper he was holding up, and realized that he hadn't even been paying attention to what he was reading. With a frustrated grunt, he flipped back a page or two and tried reading again.

 

In order to keep the peace – which was what Ed knew he'd actually been ordered to do here – he would take the apology from Xing with grace, smile and nod, and somehow let them know (inoffensively) that they hoped no further situations would arise. And at that point in Ed's orders, he'd decided the whole situation was bullshit. Seriously, who  _had_  made the decision to appoint Edward Elric – once famed for his quick temper – as the host?

 

Edward was convinced that Xing still wanted something. This Prince Ling they were sending as their ambassador supposedly was there to make the apology, but from his profile, he looked more like a troublemaker than a proper diplomatic envoy. He had been imprisoned in his own country at least once, though the charge and sentence weren't stated. Several members of his family dabbled in Xing's forms of alchemy, which there weren't many notes on in the report, piquing Ed's curiosity. But as he read further into Ling's file, his gaze narrowed. From some of the reports, it looked like someone in Xing's royal line really was after information regarding human alchemy, at which Ed scowled and snapped the folder shut. The damned idiots obviously didn't know what they were messing with. The only things that such taboo practices brought were more empty promises of power, and along with that a toll from the Gate that cost more than anyone  _rational_  should be willing to pay for it.

 

No wonder Mustang had kept a secret supply of brandy in his desk. Had he really dealt with this kind of bullshit during his years as a Colonel?

 

Groaning and rubbing his face with his good hand, Ed decided that maybe he should go take a break, run to the store for some good hard liquor, and see if there were any good automail mechanics in Central that he might go to until he heard back from Winry. His automail had saved his life in more situations than he'd care count in his previous years as a national alchemist; he had no doubt that if he encountered such dangerous situations again, he'd need all the safeguards he could get to protect himself. And he thought he should probably get a sparring session in with Alphonse in the meantime as well; it wouldn't hurt.

 

 

 

 

Despite the fact that he was not technically part of the military, Alphonse had opted to stay in a modest apartment in Central rather than moving back to the Elrics' hometown of Rizembul. Their home wasn't there anymore, Rockbell residence aside – he always felt at least a little guilty imposing on them despite their continued insistence that he was perfectly welcome – and he found that he would much rather stay somewhere where he could keep both eyes on his older brother as often as possible. Especially since Ed was forced to stay in Central for the time being, and Alphonse knew there were other eyes on him as well.

 

It wasn't an easy task, making sure Edward didn't get himself into trouble. Hell, they'd only somehow found themselves back in Amestris what, a week ago? And it was only a matter of  _days_  after they'd come back when Ed had nearly started a fight in the hospital with Mustang. Forget the fact that Mustang was a rather important member of the new Parliament, if Al understood the new system well enough – it seemed enough like England's for him to be able to make comparisons. Edward was under the watchful eyes of other wary Parliament members, and any misbehavior could be oh so easily misread. Al had been the one who had to step between the two arguing alchemists, hoping that he could quell his brother's anger with some rationality.

 

Needless to say, it had worked. Barely. Alphonse was relieved to find that Mustang was willing to act his age once in a while, even if Edward wasn't.

 

But once they had both been released from the hospital with no further questions, it had been harder to keep an eye on Ed as he was whisked away by the military. Alphonse had nearly followed him, but knew damn well that his brother would give the military  _hell –_  and would likely try to kill Mustang for certain, Ministry be damned – if Al signed any kind of contract with them. It didn't matter that the military was no longer authorized to deploy national alchemists as weapons in times of aggressive war. They were to be used as defense only, should any neighborly aggression rear its ugly head, and only with Parliament approval.

 

At least, that was what Al had understood from reading up on what he could find at the public library on Amestris' new laws. A lot had changed in the years that they'd been on the other side of the Gate, and Al couldn't help but wonder how exactly they'd been able to get back without trying, especially since Mustang had  _promised_  he was going to destroy it once they'd gone across the last time.

 

He'd have to ask his brother about that later; he wasn't authorized to see the reports from their return, and apparently Ed wasn't, either. Yet. But it was apparent that something had gone terribly awry at a national alchemist's demonstration during the recertification process. Ed had probably figured as much out already, too, if not more.

 

Al sighed, looking around his new apartment. It was small – only one room with a wrought-iron stove that sat to the side and could provide both heat and a cooking surface, a coat rack, and a ridiculously tiny chest of drawers. That didn't matter, though; he had hardly any clothing save for what he wore, and an extra outfit that Ed had insisted he pick up from a nearby tailor. There was a public washroom at the end of his hall, and a common kitchen on the first floor of the building. It wasn't much, but it was what he could afford for the time being without pulling too hard on Ed's government stipend. He would survive until he found his own job in the city.

 

Suddenly, Al heard a small commotion outside his door, and before he could peek his head into the hallway to see what was going on, his door slammed open and nearly smacked him in the face. Glaring down at the intruder –  _down_ , the first clue – he sighed when he saw a rather irritated-looking scowl etched deeply into his older brother's face. For a moment, they stood in Al's doorway, staring at each other with narrowed eyes, until Al finally caved and nodded for his brother to enter.

 

"You shouldn't scare my landlady off, Brother," Al admonished as he quietly shut his door, hoping fervently that the older lady who owned the building wouldn't throw him out for his brother's actions. "This was the third place I checked for a room; don't ruin it for me."

 

Ed crossed his arms and plopped himself down on the edge of Al's small bed, which creaked slightly in protest under his weight. He said nothing as he just stared out the window, gold eyes smoldering, and a sour expression still on his face. Something was bothering him.

 

"Ed?"

 

"I hate Mustang," Ed muttered.

 

Al raised an eyebrow. "Tell me something I don't know." And then he braced himself for a rant.

 

Which he got. "First thing I see when I get back home is that  _bastard_ 's smirking face, and without so much as a proper greeting, he's already ordering me around like he still  _owns_  me. We've been questioned like we're common criminals when – for  _fucking once_  – we didn't do anything wrong, and once he's decided he's had enough of  _that_ , he gives me a raise and hands me a bunch of far-too-green gophers who are absolutely useless, sticks me on a case that I was told was extremely important to fucking  _national security_ and that if I screwed it up I was going to be publically tarred and feathered, all without so much as a moment to catch my breath now that I'm actually back  _home_. God _damn_  that son of a bitch!"

 

Al winced as Ed's voice rose in volume, looking nervously back at his door to make sure nobody  _else_  was going to barge in and give him an earful about the noise level.

 

"Brother..."

 

Ed sighed with a mumbled apology. "Look. Would you mind letting me work this out the good, old-fashioned way? For once?"

 

And then Al sighed again. Ed looked him in the eye with an expression that told him he might get destructive if Al said no.

 

"If it makes you happy," Al said, placating. Maybe he could beat some sense into his brother in the meantime. "Just... not for too long, okay? I don't want you to get too tired out while you work on your case."

 

And he didn't want Ed's leg wound to get irritated again, but he wasn't about to say that. It was, for the most part, healed – and Ed hated to be reminded of the fact that he'd slipped up – but Al knew that the injury had been deep enough to leave some remnant muscle pain once in a while. He often wondered if the thigh bone had been hit; Ed still limped a little when the weather changed, and couldn't seem to sit still for long periods of time.

 

Then again, Ed never really had been able to sit still for long.

 

Ed shot him a glare at the comment, but then he also sighed. In some ways, his brother hadn't changed at all. He was still stubborn as hell, and far preferred action over words. Following his brother out the door, they headed for a nearby park that they now frequented for such ventures. It was an unusually quiet spot for such a busy city; not many citizens seemed to enjoy the longer walking paths it provided. Or maybe it was the poor choices on the greenery – some alchemist had done a horrific job of cross-breeding shade trees, and had ended up creating a gnarled, twisted breed of rather atrocious and frightening-looking vegetation. At any rate, Alphonse was grateful that they'd discovered this park; their sudden return had brought them a lot of unwanted attention (especially for Ed, who still hated the press), and it was pleasant not to have half a dozen eyes staring at them with questions they didn't want to answer while they were essentially trying to pulverize each other.

 

Once they'd reached their usual clearing, both brothers tossed their jackets aside and stretched briefly before they fell into defensive stances across from each other. Not much had changed in their usual sparring sessions, either; while Ed had most certainly grown taller the last few years, Al still had the advantage of height, even in his own body. Of course, the matter didn't seem to sit well with Edward much once Al outgrew him –  _again –_ but at least fewer people made cracks about Ed's height. Al had his father's height, and he knew he was rather tall compared to the average Amestrian male. Ed shouldn't get so irritable over it – hell, Ed had even gained almost an inch on Roy Mustang, much to Ed's fiendish delight. (Al wasn't about to point out the fact that this was only the case when Ed wore his boots, in which Ed had placed arch support pads that did lend him a little extra height.)

 

Before Al's thoughts could progress further, he realized that he saw the muscles in Ed's flesh thigh contract ever so slightly just before his brother sprang at him. Ed tended to strike first, trying – unsuccessfully – to gain the element of surprise over his younger brother. It didn't work this time, either; Al stepped back to avoid Ed's leg sweep, never letting his gaze leave his opponent. He could have taken Ed's leg out pretty quickly, but he knew it was unfair – Ed still had a healing injury there, and it only would have made Ed even more irate.

 

Ed spun around into a low front stance, charging forward without much pause and feinting with his metal hand. Al simply stepped backwards and let Ed come towards him, moving his head out of the feint and blocking the real punch when it came towards his face. Al was out of range of the snap kick that followed.

 

Predictable. Al wondered if Ed noticed that he hadn't taken a single swing yet, and was purely staying on the defensive. Ed probably would be angry once he realized it, but Al sincerely didn't want to hurt his brother. True, Ed was the one with the metal prosthetics, but Al knew that he was the better fighter, and Ed's leg still bothered him. He could tell as much by the occasionally stilted movements of the kicks, or the fact that Ed wasn't getting as much spring out of his jumps as he typically did. But that didn't keep him from staying on the offensive.

 

Suddenly, Ed jumped back into a low crouch, and with a short growl he sent a flying kick aimed at Al's head.  _Stupid brother,_  Al thought with a silent sigh. Ed was going to hurt himself on the landing; he had entirely planned on the kick connecting, and it wasn't going to. Al grabbed his foot and – using Ed's airborne momentum – swung his brother into the ground and pinned him there. Ed struggled for a minute, until he realized that he wasn't going to be able to squirm out of Al's iron grip.

 

"Damn it," he grumbled, scowling. Then, he sighed. "Yield."

 

Al let his brother up with a cocky smirk. That hadn't taken long, for once. "Feel better now?"

 

Ed glared at him, but couldn't hold the stare for long enough. "Yeah, I guess so." Then he smirked back. "You're a damn brute, Alphonse, even without the armor." Rotating his right shoulder, he frowned as the movements proved to be a little jerkier than they should have been. "Stupid, shitty prosthetics," he muttered. "There really is nothing like automail."

 

Al's eyes widened in realization. "Ah! Brother, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to damage it!" he exclaimed crouching down by his older brother to look at the port.

 

"It's not your fault, Al; I think it would've gotten messed up from something as simple as lifting boxes," Ed said. "Besides, this should be enough to force Mustang to let me at least track down my automail mechanic, wherever she's run off to."

 

Ah, so that's what this was about. "You broke it on purpose, you idiot!" Al accused.

 

"I did not! You're the one that slammed this arm into the ground!" Ed snapped back.

 

"But you just said it wasn't my fault!"

 

"Well, I changed my mind, then! If it's your fault, then it's not mine, and Mustang can't blame me for it and will actually  _listen_ when I insist that I get it fixed!"

 

Al growled in frustration. "Geez, Ed, you're impossible!" he exclaimed. "I should just go ahead and tell Mustang exactly what happened – you forced me into a fight so that you could break it and have an excuse not to do your job!"

 

"If it wasn't going to hold up in a simple sparring session, then it sure as hell wasn't going to last an actual fight if one comes up on this case," Ed said, picking his ear with his prosthetic pinky. The shoulder sparked a little again, causing the hand to jerk and jab harder into Ed's ear. "Ow, dammit! See what I mean?"

 

Al scrubbed his face with his hand, frustrated, especially since he knew that Ed actually did have a surprisingly logical point. "You dumbass. You absolute  _dumbass_."

 

He offered a hand to his brother anyway. Some things just never changed.

 

 

 

 

"Absolutely not."

 

Ed sputtered; he hadn't expected Mustang to be so stubborn. "B-But Mustang–"

 

"That's Minister of Defense Mustang or Sir to you, Fullmetal. And I said absolutely not. You're in the middle of an investigation,  _Colonel_ ,and I will not tolerate you leaving on a whimsical hunt for your old sweetheart." Ed began to protest, but Mustang cut him off as he picked up a stack of papers and noisily tapped the edge of the pile on the desk, straightening it before he set it back down. "If you were so worried about breaking your prosthetics, then why the hell did you agree to a sparring match with your brother in the first place?"

 

Ed gritted his teeth and looked away, fists clenched. "I needed the practice, _Sir_ ," he ground out. "I would at least like to be able to defend myself should the need arise on this case."

 

"That's what your subordinates are for," Mustang replied coolly. "You don't think you've got them to sit around and look pretty all day, do you?" Ed scowled, and Mustang continued. "And if you get into a fight with the Xing emissaries, I swear to God that you'll be in such deep shit so fast, you won't even know what hit you. Besides, if you're that worried about your prosthetics, then perhaps you should look around Central for an automail mechanic. It's a big city, Fullmetal, and I'm sure we have plenty of shops to offer. You aren't the only amputee in Amestris."

 

Mustang did have a point there, but then again,  _Mustang_  wasn't an amputee nor did he wear automail, thus he wouldn't understand how much of a difference a good automail mechanic made. Winry Rockbell was the best damn automail mechanic Ed knew, though Paninya's guardian in Rush Valley wasn't bad either. It was a damn shame that neither automail mechanic set up shop in Central.

 

"This isn't like the old days, Fullmetal. You're not free to roam about as you wish; Amestrian citizens are not so comfortable having military-commissioned alchemists running around as they see fit. That was one of the conditions under our new contract with Parliament, and I won't be bending rules for you just because you think you're entitled." Ed tensed, narrowing his eyes irritably at the Minister. Mustang sighed and added, "Once General Hakuro is satisfied with the results of his investigation into your return from the Gate, and after you've peacefully heard out the Xing emissaries and sent them back home, I will then consider granting you leave. Then you can do as you wish."

 

"So you're saying that once I finish getting harassed for something I didn't do, and after I finish a  _peacemaking_ job that you forced upon me – you know damn well I've never been suited for keeping peace – then I can go fix my automail properly?"

 

"If you insist on seeing it that way, yes."

 

"This is a joke," Ed muttered irritably.

 

"This is life, Fullmetal. Look at it this way – you're finding a rather convenient escape from what could have been a hefty legal suit against you for your history of taboo alchemy, and you're able to rebuild your reputation in the meantime. You are in no position to complain."

 

Ed muttered " _bastard_ " under his breath, knowing full well that Mustang likely heard him. He knew he was pushing the boundaries, but damn it, couldn't anyone see his side of the situation here? Unfortunately, Mustang was right – he was stuck, and it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Alphonse could have been dragged back into the fray. Once again, he would have to thank Mustang later for protecting him and his brother, but he wasn't in the mood to do that just yet.

 

"Is that all?" Mustang asked. Ed simply nodded, avoiding eye contact as if it would burn him. "Then you are dismissed, Colonel Elric."

 

Edward left Mustang's office in a frustrated, gloomy state of mind, but when his eyes fell on a stack of one of Central's daily newspapers on his way back to the barracks, he picked one up and flipped through to the advertisement section. Hopefully, there was a local automail mechanic or two who would place their ads in the paper. He really didn't have time to hold out hope that Winry would magically pop up in Central; she didn't even know he was back, nor did he expect her to, reasonably. No time for being bitchy or overly picky; at this point, just about any competent automail mechanic would do. Anything but crappy, broken prosthetics.

 

_Ah, there_  – four mechanics had put ads in the newspaper, and all were within a short walking distance of the military complex. Maybe this wouldn't be quite so bad after all; it would save him a rather awkward reunion with Winry, at the very least. Ed folded the newspaper under his arm, planning to make phone calls the next morning. It was a start.

 

 

 

 

 

Alphonse was surprised to hear that his brother had actually agreed to see a local automail mechanic. Then again, Edward really had no choice, aside from sneaking out of Central – which would only get him in more trouble in the end. Ed probably knew that as well; they were no longer children, and couldn't as easily get away with those kinds of maneuvers as they once had. It would only make them look more suspicious to the Parliament-assigned investigators.

 

Still, Alphonse couldn't help but worry about the fact that the Rockbells had been impossible to get in contact with. He was sorely tempted to take the next train to Risenbul himself to see what the situation was, but he didn't want to leave his brother with nobody to safely vent to just yet. Schezka had become closer to Winry when they'd last seen the two of them; perhaps she would know where to look? If Alphonse could get past security far enough to see her, that was.

 

Well, maybe he could. He was an Elric, after all. And if he needed to, he could always call his brother and ask him to supply an escort. Even if the Edward was also under sharp scrutiny, it didn't mean that he couldn't command at least some measure of respect from those around him. It wasn't every day that renowned national alchemists could find ways to suddenly make themselves disappear entirely, and then magically reappear four years later without any overtly apparent Gate tolls. Apparently, that magic trick brought at least a little positive attention along with the vast amounts of negative press that seemed to dog the brothers in recent days.

 

Then there was the matter of Hakuro's seeing-eye-dog watching him wherever he went. Although Al hadn't actually  _seen_  the person keeping an eye on him, he could feel a sharp gaze boring into the back of his head every time he left his apartment. It made him at least a little uncomfortable, even though he knew it was likely part of the investigation. He understood why everyone was so concerned about the Elrics' use of alchemy, but if they'd been watching this closely for over a week now, they should know by this point that neither Elric had even tried using it. Al wasn't sure he  _could_  anymore, not at this point; it had been so long since he'd tried that he knew he would be incredibly rusty.

 

Not to mention the fact that he now knew how alchemic transmutations were powered. That thought also kept him from using alchemy, and he knew it was the driving force behind his brother's abstinence from the art as well. They had come to a common conclusion – alchemy was only to be used in the utmost emergency, and  _only_  then. Alphonse sincerely hoped he would never have to get to that point.

 

A sudden curt knock on his door startled Alphonse from his thoughts, and he opened it to see his older brother, who had an unusually cheery expression.

 

He couldn't help it; he sighed.

 

"What did you do this time, Brother?"

 

Edward beamed, ignoring the verbal barb. "I will be getting my new set of automail in two days," he stated proudly. "Two days! Winry would have told me three, and would have charged me twice as much for the same materials that this guy's using."

 

"I'm glad you found someone competent enough for your tastes," Al said, truthfully surprised that Ed had actually agreed to go to someone besides the Rockbells for new automail. But on a second thought, Al realized that it might be Ed's attempt to put off seeing Winry again for as long as possible. He stepped aside and motioned his brother inside. "So did this new mechanic explain to you what kind of automail he was making you after you got measured?"

 

"I told him about the old design I had and he picked up on it surprisingly fast," Ed noted as he plopped himself down at the foot of Al's bed. "Makes me wonder if Winry's design went public. The steel will be lighter, but more durable, the guy said."

 

Al nodded; the weight of the older automail had put a lot of strain on Edward's skeletal structure, according to Winry. She had never told Edward that directly because of his sensitivity to his smaller stature in his preteens, but she had mentioned it to Al. The lighter metal would help him move easier, like the prosthetics did, but would offer strength and support that his current fake limbs didn't.

 

But no matter the situation, not even automail could beat the way that one's own limbs could move. Al was a little frustrated that they had yet to accomplish that part of their original goal to gain their bodies back – he'd gotten his, but Edward's limbs had never returned, not even after Wrath's death four years ago. His brother never seemed to bring it up, which only made Al suspicious that something else had happened that he didn't know about, something that fit snugly in the four-year gap in his memory.

 

"It'll be so nice to have my automail back," Ed murmured happily, stretching his arms over his head with only a slight pause as the damaged prosthetic shoulder gave him some trouble before he leaned back on Al's bed.

 

"Hm," Al grunted in agreement, even if he didn't entirely agree. Ed deserved to have his actual limbs back, after all they'd been through – not even automail could top that. Perhaps that was where he would direct the focus of his research: why it was that Edward didn't gain his limbs back. Ed couldn't know that, of course.

 

As soon as their traveling rights were restored, Al fully intended to leave Central to do some research in private.

 

"Hey, Brother, it's getting a little late – why don't we go get something to eat?" Al offered, trying to divert the one-sided conversation.

 

"Sounds good – but let's not go back to the base; rations there kinda suck. I'm starving!" Ed sat back up and got to his feet.

 

That was another thing that hadn't entirely changed; Al's older brother still could eat enough food for ten men, and yet he still stayed lean. Al wasn't so lucky in that regard; his metabolism couldn't handle as much consumption as Ed's without noticeable consequences.

 

The brothers left the small apartment house and headed towards one of their favorite nearby pubs. There were plenty of tables in the darker corners there, and it was nice that they still could slide in under the general radar at that place despite the fact that their return had made the news more than once.

 

Al couldn't help but wonder if coming back "home" was really worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

Ed walked down the street with his hands deep in the pockets of the loose pair of trousers he wore, button-up shirt unbuttoned and untucked; he was immensely glad to be free for the morning from his usual military attire. The starch that the laundry service used on the cloth made it stiff and itchy, and Ed was quickly reminded of why it was he hated the stupid uniforms so much in the first place. That, and the fact that he felt like a walking target when he went out in that get-up. It wasn't like the military had regained favor among the people overnight, no matter what kind of changes the government had gone through.

 

Laying low was likely the wise choice in this situation, Ed decided about halfway to the automail mechanic's shop. There had been a time when hiding his identity as the famous Fullmetal Alchemist would sting his pride, but he had grown up in a time where blending in sometimes was the best defense. He had a feeling that this was one of those times. Nobody remembered what he looked like, right? As long as he kept his prosthetics properly covered, he wouldn't stand out. And besides, Al was no longer confined to a bulky suit of armor, which also aided in his disguise as the average Central citizen.

 

The mechanic Ed chose from the newspaper had set up shop in a nice, two-story building with a proud wooden sign stating "Lucas Automail" hanging over the main door. The sign was new, as was the paint on the exterior, but the building's style gave away its older foundation. Ed guessed that the mechanic either had recently remodeled, or was new in town. He was willing to bet that the guy was new. From what he had discussed with the mechanic in his initial appointment, it seemed that the man was almost desperate for customers to build his repertoire. Perhaps if the automail was as high-quality as Edward was hoping it would be, he would give a good word out under his name.

 

Well, he was about to find that much out. His fitting appointment would take place the following morning, barring any obstacles that his current assignment might throw his way.

 

Speaking of the devils, the Xing emissaries were supposed to arrive that afternoon. Edward had taken the final opportunity to parade around in something other than a military uniform, and he was going to enjoy his walk, damn it. This was one more chance to pester Alphonse and grab a lunch that wasn't slopped on his plate by the military cafeteria ladies before he headed back to the dorms to change and meet his charges.

 

He wondered what they would think of Amestris sending them a one-armed, one-legged escort, and then stifled that thought with a wry snicker. Oh, the fun he could have with Mustang, showing off his crappy prosthetics to the guests, making himself out to be a cripple…

 

Mustang's words from the briefing came back to him at that moment.  _Deep shit, huh?_  But then there were the unspoken threats that hung above his head should he screw this up, the least of which dealt with his current travel restriction. Mustang was warning him – Alphonse could get caught up in this, if he wasn't careful. He couldn't let that happen. That wasn't Mustang's fault, either; it had to be Hakuro, the over-achieving son of a bitch.

 

The thought put a scowl on Ed's face as he knocked on the door to Al's apartment.

 

"What is it now?" his brother sighed when he opened the door.

 

Edward blinked, startled. He hadn't been paying attention. Damn it, he was going to work on keeping his expression neutral in front of the guests.

 

"Lunch?" He managed to say it rather neutrally, much to his relief. "Last chance for me to eat outside the military cantina before I get ensnared in the national parade of fools."

 

Alphonse sighed again.

 

"What, did you eat already?"

 

"I haven't," Alphonse replied. "But you're not very good company when you're pouting like that, Brother."

 

Edward scowled. "I don't pout."

 

"Suit yourself." Alphonse pulled his coat on at the door as Edward waited for him outside, and then turned to walk outside once he'd locked the door. "Where to?"

 

Ed grinned. There was one place that still had the best stew on this side of Amestris: the pub down the street. They also happened to have some of the best beer Edward had tasted since they'd returned. Then again, there weren't many Amestrian blends that could match up to a good German brew. Mustang wouldn't mind him having a little alcohol before he met with the Xing emissaries, would he? It would make him more amiable.

 

On second thought, perhaps he could have done without the headache. Of course, that second thought didn't come until long after his third – fourth? – beer had worn off, and he was alternating between shaking hands and bowing until he thought his oversized head was going to roll off his shoulders when he awkwardly greeted the Xing emissaries mere hours later.

 

Xing had sent three emissaries – and Ed sensed a fourth one standing a little further back in the shadows. A bodyguard, perhaps? The main party consisted of a wrinkly-faced, slanted-eyed old man, a younger man with the same kind of eyes and long black hair pulled into a low ponytail, and a young girl whose similar black hair had been pulled into twin buns on either side of her head. The older man was the only one of the three who appeared to be dressed formally, which came as a bit of a surprise. Weren't these guys supposed to be royalty? Edward had initially bowed when he'd met them – as was customary in their home country, he had read in the stack of required reading from Mustang – but they had stuck out their hands in greeting instead. When Edward reached to take their hands, they bowed in return at the same time, and Edward had to resist squawking in confusion.

 

Instead, he laughed nervously. "I guess we have all done our homework," he said amicably.

 

The young man chuckled as well, but his seemed more genuine. "Pleased to meet you, Colonel Edward Elric," he said in heavily-accented Amestrian. "I am Ling Yiao, of the Xing royal family. This is my advisor Wu," the old man bowed, "and my younger sister, Princess Mei. We humbly thank you for your hospitality."

 

So the younger man was the prince, which hadn't surprised Edward in the least. He was much more unkempt and suspicious-looking than Ed had imagined he would be, however. Recovering his composure, Ed resisted the urge to rub the back of his head sheepishly, scrambling to recall how it was that Mustang wanted him to behave as an ambassador. There was something he'd written in the files about Xingian greetings, and for the life of him, Edward couldn't remember what it was.

 

_Shit._

 

He plastered a forced smile on his face. "Please accept the humble offerings of our country," he said, straining. Hopefully that didn't sound too terribly weak. Xingians respected a general level of humility, didn't they? Was that what he'd read?

 

The Xingian prince smiled appreciatively, and Edward hoped it was a good sign that he was on the right track. But on a closer look, there was something hidden in that smile; something Ed didn't like. He felt the beginnings of a cold sweat breaking out down his spine, and he suppressed a shudder as he turned back to the guests and motioned for them to follow him to their lodgings in the military complex.

 

He somehow managed to keep up small talk in the government-assigned auto – and driver – on their way back to the military base. Prince Ling seemed to be incredibly interested in Amestris' line of alchemy, though his slightly strained vocabulary made it somewhat difficult for Edward at times to explain some of the more scientific aspects of alchemic practice. But the more Ed spoke with Ling, the less he believed that the gap in the vocabulary had to do with the language translation, and more with Ling's lack of knowledge in the subject. Xing had its own brand of alchemy, which Ed recalled that he once had the ambition to add to his scholarly repertoire.

 

Which led him to the conclusion that Ling was neither a scientist nor an alchemist. Ling was almost  _too_ interested in Amestrian alchemy for someone with his lack of knowledge; perhaps he was looking for something of alchemic nature from Amestris, and was hoping to find information on it from Edward. Or maybe he was trying to get a leg up on his siblings; Mei, even though she was a child, seemed to understand basic alchemic principles better than her older brother. Perhaps the natural affinity for alchemy had skipped a few members of the royal line.

 

_Ah. This should be interesting._

 

Edward was going to slide that observation into his report when all was said and done. If his suspicions were correct, the only aspect of alchemy that Amestris was  _infamous_  for – rather than simply  _famous_  – was the taboo aspect of human alchemy. And if that was something Ling was after, perhaps the Xing spies really had been tied to the government. He was going to need to tread carefully should the subject arise, as he was possibly one of the few left in Amestris that knew the truth behind human alchemy. Ling would never get a chance to know.

 

Mustang would need to know this as soon as Edward found a way to obtain more solid evidence to support his suspicions.

 

"Colonel Elric?"

 

Edward turned his attention back to his charges with a quick smile and apology, and once he saw that they had arrived at the military base, he proceeded to lead the Xing emissaries to the barracks that had been specially set aside and prepared as guest quarters. There would be a special dinner that evening with several members of Parliament – Ed was grateful that he wasn't going to have to be the political jockey in this situation after all – as well as key members of the military involved in the espionage case. After that, Edward was to entertain their guests for as long as they wished; this was the condition he had agreed to in order to get the next morning off for his automail appointment the next morning.

 

God, it would feel so good to have real automail again, Ed decided as his damaged prosthetic shoulder sent uncomfortable tingles across his back. Ling – as much of an enthusiastic bimbo as he appeared to be at times during their brief conversation in the auto – was obviously a fighter. Ed didn't miss the toned muscles in the Xing prince's arms, nor the way Ling carried himself when he walked. There was the slim possibility that these guests would behave poorly, and Edward knew as a fighter that Ling had probably picked up on the fact that he had two artificial limbs – and that at least one of them had a mechanical problem.

 

Shuddering, Ed desperately hoped that nothing would come of the situation until he was ready to handle it.

 

_Until morning_. It became a mantra, one that Edward was careful not to let slip from his mouth as he kept the terse smile in place during the tour of the military base. Ling continued to smile back in a disconcertingly deceptive manner that left Ed feeling extremely uneasy.  _Until morning._

 

_Damn you, Mustang._

 

 

 

 

"Do you think I am unfair?"

 

Hawkeye looked up from her post at the Minister's door, one eyebrow raised in query. Standing up straighter, she straightened her jacket and took a calculating breath before she answered.

 

"If you're regarding the matter with Colonel Elric, Sir, you are doing what is in your power to help him out; whether he chooses to see that is up to him," she replied evenly.

 

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his plush office seat, twiddling his gloved thumbs before his face. He had yet to break the habit of wearing gloves constantly, even if they didn't always have the flame signet stitched into them. He'd had to begrudgingly use plain gloves while in his office, as the outward image of an alchemic circle on his gloves were too reminiscent of a leader who wished to impose a powerful iron fist on his subordinates. At least, that was what Parliament had told him, in not so many words. He didn't necessarily agree, but that was no longer up to his discretion under the new rule.

 

"Perhaps I pushed him too hard into this mission before he was ready," he said, words almost muffled behind his hands. "Alphonse confirmed that his prosthetics were indeed broken; maybe I should have let him get those fixed, first."

 

"Sir, with all due respect, the timing was improper," Hawkeye reminded him sternly. "There was not enough time before the Xing guests arrived for him to track down Winry Rockbell, and you needed to give Elric something worthwhile to do while stuck in Central. You did all you could."

 

Roy sighed, leaning back into his chair. "I know, but it doesn't help much. I feel like I've left him with his back wide open. Fullmetal hasn't used alchemy since he was last seen here four years ago; have you read that part of the investigation yet?"

 

Hawkeye nodded. "I did, Sir."

 

"He's out of practice, and if he needs to defend himself–"

 

"Minister, Elric is now the rank of a Colonel. He has subordinates to help him with that."

 

"Rookie subordinates," Roy muttered.

 

The corner of Hawkeye's mouth turned upward ever so slightly. "You chose them yourself, Sir."

 

Roy took a deep breath.

 

"Try not to over-think this too much, Sir. If you think it would be wise, perhaps you could keep further tabs on Elric's whereabouts while our Xing guests are still in town."

 

Roy nodded. "Fullmetal has an appointment in the morning with his automail mechanic; Falman has graciously offered to take over his duties overseeing the Xing emissaries until his return in the early afternoon."

 

Hawkeye shot Roy an amused look; she understood the meaning behind that statement. Falman had been rather…  _pressed_  to make such a generous offer.

 

"That was rather kind of him," Hawkeye said, playing along.

 

Roy smirked. "Well, it'll give him something interesting to do, at any rate."

 

There were a few moments of quiet, though those were common within the Minister's office during work hours. He shuffled several stacks of papers around on his desk, pulling one of them closer with a slight grimace. Xing wasn't the only problem that Amestris currently faced that might involve the military. While the country had stabilized a great deal since Parliament gained the reigns, Amestris still had its fair share of domestic problems. Some of the military's past actions still did not settle well in several regions, causing a great deal of domestic tension.

 

One such region – which had been rebuilding well up until the invasion from the other side of the Gate that he'd had to destroy on the Elric brothers' insistence – was Lior, where many of the Ishbalan refugee groups had settled once Parliament had lifted the restrictions on where they could live and travel. It had been decided – wisely – by Parliament that there was no reason for the Ishbalites to be singled out and targeted anymore, as they clearly did not pose a threat. However, the fact that many of them had been able to move into Lior had put some further strain on the situation there.

 

Apparently, not even all of Lior's people were as accepting of the laws as the government was.

 

Roy had to admit that Fullmetal's return had come at a rather bad time. The people of Lior were still at least a little angry with him in general for starting things down the path that they'd gone. Of course, Roy had not mentioned this issue to Fullmetal just yet; he had hoped to get the situation under control before anyone from Lior heard about the Elric brothers' return and decided to make something of it.

 

Maybe putting Fullmetal in such an open position as a diplomatic host with little backup hadn't been such a good idea…

 

"Sir?"

 

Roy hesitated a moment before he said, "See about finding the good Colonel a few good men who can keep an eye on him, Hawkeye. Don't let him know he's being watched, though."

 

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him again, but when Roy shook his head, her expression relaxed and she nodded in understanding. This had nothing to do with Hakuro's investigation, and if that was the case, there was likely trouble brewing that could potentially involve Fullmetal. Even if Hawkeye didn't understand all that right away, she would catch on fairly quickly. He had chosen his subordinates wisely.

 

"It will be done," Hawkeye said, and then she dismissed herself.

 

 

 

 

Edward arrived at his appointment ten minutes early, clad in sports shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt underneath a long jacket and loose-fitting pants to conceal the prosthetics. He'd learned a long time before that most people reacted strangely to someone with missing limbs, and he while it didn't tend to bother him, he had been told that it was important that he lie low on this appointment. After all, he was hosting the Xing guests; if someone was after them, there was always the chance that they would strike at him first.

 

The mechanic, Caleb Lucas, greeted Edward by his first name as he entered the shop. Ed had opted not to give his last name out, just in case there might be a problem. He hadn't even mentioned his line of business, but the mechanic had never asked. Lucas didn't seem like the type likely to pry. Lucas was in his early thirties, most likely, and had light hair and eyes a shade of brown that almost looked reddish in some light. It would not surprise Ed if he learned that Lucas had some Ishbalan blood in his heritage.

 

On his first visit, Ed had been only to the main room, which had several chairs that served as a waiting area in the front, and then a counter – and behind that, a few larger chairs for measuring. He hadn't been to the back, which was where Lucas led him to this time. Ed was a little surprised to find that the mechanic's back rooms in his shop were rather clear of debris and pieces. While the Rockbells had never been explicitly messy with their shop, Ed had never failed to notice the fact that parts and pieces were all over the house, enough to be called clutter in several rooms. This place seemed almost devoid of any sort of indication that the mechanic even had the materials necessary to make automail. Unless, of course, the man stored it upstairs – this was a two-story building, after all.

 

"Right this way, Edward," Lucas said with a gesture into one of the back rooms. There was a hospital-style bed at the side of the room that had been propped up, and Ed caught sight of what looked like his finished automail limbs on a rolling table next to it. There was another chair with broad arm and leg rests that sat several feet away from the bed. Lucas motioned to the chair. "Please, have a seat."

 

"Thank you," Ed replied, as removed his jacket and loose pants, leaving him only in his sports shorts and t-shirt.

 

He pulled the t-shirt off as well, folding it with the jacket and pants, and then began working on the complex shoulder strap that held his prosthetics to the port. Unfortunately, once his automail had broken again in Germany, he wasn't able to fashion prosthetics that fit the port correctly and had had to resort once again to the strap. Once the prosthetic arm was off, it went on a pile of folded clothes on the floor next to the chair. Hopefully, Lucas wouldn't mind.

 

The back of the chair was cool against his bare back, sending a small shudder down his spine as he removed his prosthetic leg. It was a stiff chair, meant for keeping him upright long enough for the mechanic to attach the automail; it reminded Ed of the chair that Winry and Pinako made him sit in when they performed this same procedure.

 

It had been a while since they'd done it last, he realized, a strange feeling filling his chest as he thought of it. He almost felt guilty for not having them take care of his automail for him as they'd always done, but it wasn't his fault he couldn't get a hold of them. This was important, and it needed to be done now. Once he was free to track Winry down, Ed fully planned on having her inspect the new automail set for him to make sure it was up to her standards.

 

"Well, Edward, I'm ready when you are."

 

Ed blinked, finally noticing that Lucas had set up the new automail arm and leg on a rolling table.  _Damn_ , it was so nice to see a set of brand new automail after these last few years. He just wasn't looking forward to the pain he knew would come with reattaching the nerves within the ports. He hadn't felt that pain in a few years, but the recollection of it never quite faded from his memory regardless of the time that had passed.

 

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Ed replied with a wry smile.

 

"I'm sure you already know, but this is going to hurt quite a bit," Lucas said in warning, grimacing apologetically.

 

"Oh trust me, I know." Ed snorted. "I've spent the last eleven years of my life putting up with it here and there."

 

Lucas' grimace deepened. "Ouch. That long, huh? I'm surprised you were allowed to get automail at such a young age."

 

"It probably wasn't the best of ideas, but what can I say? I was a persistent kid."

 

Lucas chuckled as he made a few quick, last-minute adjustments to the arm before he began attaching it to the port. Once he was done with the preliminary attachments, he moved on to the leg. The nerves would be connected last. This time, though, he knew he had to be prepared to be hit with the same kind of pain twice; Lucas was the only one here, and he would have to flip both switches separately.

 

"So, which one first – the arm or the leg?" Lucas asked light-heartedly.

 

"Leg, definitely." Hopefully, the pain in his leg would have faded with the pain in his arm taking over so that he could at least walk to the bed on his own.

 

"All right, then. Are you ready?" Lucas cast Ed a serious look.

 

Ed simply grinned. "Ready as I'll ever be."

 

Lucas looked back at the switch just above the knee joint on the automail, and counted down from three before he tugged it. Fire suddenly coursed up Ed's leg, traveling up his spine until it hit his jaw and seared into the backs of his eyelids. Grunting through clenched teeth, he took several deep breaths through his nose, trying to clear the spots out of his eyes. When he could see again, he looked up to see Lucas' surprised face.

 

"Round two?" he said, voice shaking only slightly.

 

Lucas' jaw just about dropped to the floor. "I have never seen anyone not cry out from that before. Man, you're a  _tank_ ," Lucas said in awe.

 

Ed grunted and offered him a half-smile. "Comes with practice," he lied.

 

The arm's switch produced much of the same pain, though this time Ed had braced himself against it more properly, and barely even grunted. As soon as Lucas had pulled the switch, he had quickly helped Ed to his feet and moved him over to the bed. Even before Ed's vision had cleared this time, Lucas made quick work of the plates covering the attachments.

 

"Stay as long as you need," Lucas offered. "I'll go get you some water; I'll be right back."

 

Ed closed his eyes, listening to his own ragged breath as it evened out, waiting for the pain to subside. This was his least favorite part of having automail; fortunately, he didn't have to mess with it often. He had finally reached his full height – thankfully, he was taller than everyone had expected he would become, and it amused him to no end that he had finally passed even that bastard Mustang up – and wouldn't need to replace the automail when he'd outgrown it. As long as he didn't break the limbs entirely, he might be able to make this set last a very long time.

 

It was a comforting thought, and it brought a smile to his face as Lucas came back in with the promised glass of water.

 

"Thank you," Ed said as he took the water, his voice far more even than it had been the last time he'd spoken.

 

"I'm impressed, Edward – that's some stamina," Lucas commented with a grin. "There aren't many who are tough enough to take that in as much stride as you have."

 

The water felt good on his throat; even though he hadn't screamed, his throat still felt dry and tight from clenching his teeth so hard. He would be ready to stand normally in a matter of minutes, once his hand stopped shaking.

 

"It still hurts like a bitch," Ed said, sitting up entirely, "but I guess I'm fortunate that my pain tolerance is better than most."

 

"That is fortunate," Lucas said kindly. "I'll be in the front of the shop when you're ready to settle payment. Feel free to test out your automail first, of course, and don't feel rushed."

 

Ed thanked him again, and once again found himself alone, and laid back against the raised back of the bed, working on breathing techniques Izumi had taught him all those years ago. A few moments later, Ed got impatient – he never really had been good at waiting long periods of time – and slid his legs over the side of the bed. Testing his weight on his good leg, he was glad to notice that his knee didn't buckle under him, or that his leg didn't shake. Placing his weight on the automail leg, he was surprised at how comfortable and natural it felt.

 

Of course, he'd just spent several years with rather shoddy prosthetics – any automail was bound to feel like an improvement.

 

But this was a well-made set of automail, Ed realized as he stretched his metal arm across his chest and did some squats. Not only did it feel comfortable and  _right_ , it felt extremely light – it didn't pull on his shoulders or his hips or back, and it wasn't difficult to move around. It didn't feel flimsy, despite the fact that it was practically weightless. Testing out his theory, Ed transmuted the blade from the back of his metal arm – he hadn't done  _that_  in an extremely long time, either, and the alchemic energy felt strange to him – and tried tapping it on the bedpost. Yes, it was just as nice as he was hoping it would be. Either the technology had greatly improved in recent years, or this guy was simply talented in his art.

 

He was going to make sure to leave a hefty tip for Lucas. This was good work.

 

Picking up his folded t-shirt, he pulled it on over his head, almost groaning in pleasure as he felt the gears in the shoulder and elbow move smoothly without catching. He snagged the rest of his clothes and prosthetics and went back out to the main room to find Lucas sweeping the floor near the counter. Lucas looked up with an amused grin on his face.

 

"I should have known – ready to leave already?" he said good-naturedly.

 

Ed smiled back. "I guess your automail wasn't tough enough to keep me down for long," he said, tilting his nose upward in an air of false snobbery.

 

"I'll have to try harder next time, then," Lucas replied, playing along.

 

Setting his clothing and prosthetics down on the counter – and flashing Lucas an apologetic look as he did so – he dug into the pocket of his jacket to find the voucher he'd pulled from the office to pull funds from his stipend to pay for his automail. Lucas was about to find out that his newest customer was a renowned national alchemist; hopefully, he wouldn't mind too terribly much.

 

"Sorry about the trouble, but all I have are vouchers – I'm not really allowed to carry actual cash around with me," Ed said apologetically as he found the voucher deep in his pocket. He began tugging on the watch as well so that he could verify the voucher. Lucas' grin turned to an expression of confused curiosity, but Ed ignored it as he continued. The poor guy probably hadn't been expecting military personnel. "You see… ah…"

 

"Ah, that helps explain how you were so tolerant to the pain," Lucas said. "You're military, aren't you."

 

It wasn't a question, and it wasn't said unkindly. Ed let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I am." He pulled out the watch, and handed it to Lucas with the voucher. "I'm also a national alchemist," he added almost sheepishly. "You'll need to verify that you saw my watch before they will redeem your voucher."

 

Lucas took both the voucher and the watch into his hands, and his expression froze as he read the name on the paper. Ed had been expecting as much, but he felt a growing sense of dread boiling in his stomach when Lucas' grip on the watch tightened and his face suddenly darkened.

 

"You're the fucking  _Fullmetal Alchemist_ , Edward Elric," Lucas snarled.

 

And then all hell broke loose.


	2. part two

 

 

 

Something was entirely wrong in this situation, General Hakuro decided as he read through his stack of papers a second time. He had been the one in charge of investigating the bizarre return of the Elric brothers from wherever it was that they had gone. Of course, it had been on his own insistence that Parliament needed to look into the issue, and it had also been his own hand that had put himself in charge of the investigation. If his suspicions were correct, then there had been a rather unfortunate plan in play long before the Elrics had seen Amestrian daylight.

 

There was still one important question that neither Edward nor Alphonse had been helpful in answering, and that was where it was that they had returned from. Some suspected that they had died and had gone on to the afterlife; others claimed the existence of an alternate dimension that the brothers had been transported to during that strange invasion all those years ago. There were even theories of time travel and curses placing them in a prison far away. As much as Hakuro was loath to admit it, the theory that seemed to hold the most water was the one about the alternate dimension. Edward and Alphonse were wearing clothes in a fashion that – while not outlandishly different from Amestrian style – was clearly foreign. Their patterns of speech were slightly altered and had a strange accent to them that nobody could place. Of course, the accent had faded after a short period of being back in Amestris, but Hakuro had made a note of it early on in the investigation.

 

Was it even possible that an alternate dimension could exist? Hakuro wasn't an alchemist – hell, he wasn't even a scientist – so he was unable to determine if that was even  _possible_  without having to speak to someone with superior alchemic knowledge. Like Mustang. Unfortunately, Hakuro knew he couldn't afford to do that; Mustang had been Elric's superior before, and the two of them had some sort of connection that Mustang was likely to protect as much as he was able. It irritated Hakuro to no end, which was why he had not been giving his reports to Mustang before he sent them on to Parliament. But without Mustang's help, he really could only go on speculation on many issues that had come up during this case.

 

As far as he could tell, the only facts he had were that the Elric brothers had been brought back from wherever the hell they'd gone via alchemic means, and that the alchemist responsible – a nationally certified alchemist, at that – had vanished without a trace. Hakuro had asked Edward and Alphonse multiple times where they had gone, and they had been rather evasive about their responses to that question. Then he had asked them if they had been trying to return from wherever it was that they'd gone – both had been insistent that they hadn't. In fact, Edward had even said that he had not practiced alchemy since the last time he had been in Amestris, nor had he even  _tried_  to practice it. Both brothers had claimed that they did not recognize the name of the alchemist who had brought them back, and when asked about what they thought might have happened to him, they had both looked uncomfortable when they'd given equally vague replies.

 

The alchemist was likely consumed in the transmutation, as part of the equivalent exchange law of alchemy.

 

Why had that alchemist – who clearly had never met either Elric, at least not to the brothers' knowledge – targeted them specifically? What was he aiming for? As a national alchemist, he should have known that the reaction would likely cost him his own life. Was he acting under his own scientific ambition, or had somebody put him up to the task?

 

There were far too many questions in this investigation, and not nearly enough answers. Hakuro was not about to allow Edward or Alphonse out of Central until they at least gave him more clear answers about what they knew of alchemy, and where they had come back from. His first instinct had been to court-martial Edward – who had technically been AWOL, now that he wasn't obviously dead – but Mustang had been there to block that, and instead gave the young man a promotion. After that, Edward had been extremely tight-lipped, even while he had been drugged to the gills in the hospital while they were running tests. That move on Mustang's part had infuriated Hakuro, but he couldn't do much about it.

 

Hakuro needed answers. He needed them to ensure that no other alchemists were trying something so risky; Parliament didn't like risk these days, not with outside countries pressuring them for secrets and land. He needed these answers in order to make sure that there weren't others performing taboo alchemy. There had been enough trouble as a result of previous acts of illegal alchemy, and Amestris really couldn't afford to have more problems. The world was a frightening place anymore.

 

As angry as Hakuro was that the Elric brothers were not providing him with the answers he sought, he had to admit that they likely weren't at fault for their own return, especially after what he had so far uncovered. There was another force at work here that Hakuro had not yet found. He had a strange feeling that his best hunch was the one that the national alchemist who had disappeared wasn't acting alone, and that whoever his partners were, they were after something that had to do with the Elric brothers.

 

Hakuro made a note to go have another talk with Alphonse, at the very least. Perhaps while Edward was distracted with their guests from Xing, Alphonse might be more willing to open up a little more if Hakuro approached the situation with a different attitude. He wasn't going to get his answers by forcing them out of the brothers, but Alphonse seemed to be the type who would listen to negotiation.

 

Taking out a piece of parchment, Hakuro hand-wrote a note for Alphonse for a meeting, and made sure he handed it off directly to his secretary with explicit instructions before he headed home for that evening for dinner with his family.

 

Patience, he told himself – if he was patient, the answers would become clearer in time.

 

 

 

 

Edward had not been aware of the existence of the basement in the building until he had been thrown into the door that covered the steps leading down to it. The door splintered upon impact, pushing a sharp breath out of his mouth as his back slammed against the wall of the stairwell behind the door. The rest of the sudden realization vanished with the appearance of stars blotting out Ed's vision as his head cracked against one of the stairs.

 

"You had to fucking come back," Ed heard Lucas say, and while his voice sounded distant, all small nuances of the kind, polite man he'd met days earlier were gone. "And you had to walk into  _my_ shop, of all places. You absolute son of a  _bitch_."

 

Ed's head felt like a twenty-ton weight as he tried to pick it up off the stairs, grunting with the effort it took just to get to his knees. His stomach lurched at the motion, and part of him whispered  _concussion_  over and over in the back of his mind. The feeling of being lifted up by the back of his jacket didn't help, either; he barely had a moment to collect himself before he was being shoved further down the stairwell.

 

He was being herded like cattle.  _Hell no – oh_ hell  _no._  Barely managing to stay upright on his feet, he waited for Lucas' hand to brush against his back once more before he whipped around –  _damn_ but he was dizzy – and snatched at Lucas' arm, catching him by the wrist. Wobbling only a little on the steps, he used gravity to pull Lucas towards him, and stepped aside as the automail mechanic stumbled past him, apparently surprised that Ed had managed the move. Blinking stars out of his vision, Ed put up a defensive stance until he saw that Lucas was nearly at the bottom of the stairs, and he was off-balance.

 

Even if it made Ed feel like a damn coward, he turned and started running back up the stairs. If there was one thing that Edward had learned in his eleven years of constant struggle, it was that flight sometimes became the best option. He wasn't going to do well here, not in unfamiliar territory and with a concussion.

 

A wall of bright blue light cut off his escape, forming into a wall once the light faded. Alchemy.

 

_Fuck._  How could he not have seen this coming?

 

He clasped his hands together and smacked them palm-first against the wall, almost surprised to see that it worked. The alchemic energy felt foreign as it flowed through his hands and into the material of the make-shift wall, and it took all the focus he could muster to keep the faces of people on the other side of the Gate from coming to mind as he drained their energy.

 

_Sorry. I'm so sorry._

 

But even as the blockade dissipated, he didn't have time to step through his small opening. A hand closed around the back of his shirt, and he was flung forward into the wall with a force that left his nose throbbing. This time, he was the one being flung down the stairs, and he barely had enough sense left to soften the landing with a tight roll. As quickly as he dared, he got to his knees, trying to ignore the way that the world whirled and tilted about him.

 

Trying to take stock of the situation, it became painfully clear that Lucas knew him from somewhere. He didn't recognize the man at all, nor had Lucas shown any indication of recognition until he'd mentioned his name.

 

His reputation. Somewhere down the line of all those years hunting down the Philosopher's Stone, he had managed to garner himself a rather decent reputation; it had never occurred to him that he might have given himself a  _bad_ name in a few places. Sure, it made perfect sense, but he couldn't think of a single place where he'd managed to screw up so badly that someone would want to try to kill him outright  _years_  after the fact.

 

Lucas was approaching – he had to think faster. Or move faster. Neither course of action seemed to be going well.

 

"I'm going to extract payment for the wrongs you've done to my people," Lucas said, voice low and deadly sharp.

 

_His people_. That started the gears turning in Edward's mind – where had he done something so monumental as to affect an entire population of people? Surely, the Ishbalites weren't still in trouble under the new government–

 

That didn't matter, though, because Lucas wasn't from Ishbal.  _Right eyes. Wrong accent, wrong skin tone. Then where...?_

 

Ed didn't have time to finish that thought as Lucas came after him, arm pulled back for a punch. Dodging to the side, Ed wobbled as he fought to get to his feet. Lucas spun around and aimed at his ankles with a leg sweep, and Ed stepped backwards, clapping his hands together. If he could just delay Lucas long enough to try to reason with him, maybe–

 

He backed into a table – metal, steel by the feel of it – and pressed a hand to it. The blue light from the alchemic reaction ( _god, that feels weird – don't think don'tthinkdon't–_ ) filled the room as metal hands shot out from the side of the table, grabbing at Lucas. The mechanic dodged the first two attempts to grab at him, but a third hand snatched at his leg and caught it in a tight metal grip. When Lucas realized that he was caught, he snarled in Ed's direction.

 

"Now that I have your attention," Ed said, voice tight, "I want to make it infinitely clear that whatever it was I've done to royally piss you off, I can assure you that I didn't mean to harm anyone by it."

 

"You son of a bitch–"

 

The metal hand gave his leg a hearty squeeze, interrupting him.

 

Ed cleared his throat. "Since you're in such a mood for talking, maybe you could explain to me why the  _fuck you are trying to kill me_."

 

For a moment, Lucas said nothing, looking increasingly angry by the millisecond. Ed was growing a little concerned that maybe he'd missed something important, that he really  _had_ done something so heinous that it would turn what seemed to be a decent man into a sudden homicidal maniac of an alchemist-mechanic.

 

"You can't tell me you don't know what happened after you left Lior, can you?" Lucas said, so angrily that spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.

 

Ed faltered, feeling the blood drain from his face. Lior – Lucas was originally from Lior. The accent–  _Fuck, how did I not_ hear _that?_

 

"God, you're such a damned coward, not to even  _want_ to know what your heresy has caused there. Lior is in  _shambles_ , Fullmetal Alchemist. It's a bloody goddamned mess! Many have fled the city, the buildings are falling to pieces, and the government has been sent out to 'suppress' our cries for help on at least three occasions. My family is starving – the only reason I am here in Central is because this is the only place where I can make enough money to keep them alive."

 

Ed didn't know what to say to that; truthfully, he had heard of the trouble in Lior, but that wasn't really his own fault. The priest Cornello had been duping the people with his alchemy, and was on the verge of using that ability to hurt people with it – Ed couldn't let him get away with something like that! Roze would have been dead, and Ed had no doubt that she wouldn't have been the only casualty.

 

"That is a  _lie_ ," Edward hissed. "Cornello was going to kill–"

 

"The people there have no hope in anything anymore, and it's because of the seeds of doubt _you_ planted when you told them that Leto did not exist with your phony demonstrations. Leto is angry with us, and it's because of you, you goddamned  _heretic_!"

 

Ed didn't even have time to let the last of Lucas' words sink in before the steel hands  _shattered_ , several of the shards impacting his legs as they scattered outward. A handful of them bit into the muscle of his previously injured thigh, and he hissed as he tried to move to the side. Clapping his hands again – weird alchemic energy vibes be  _damned_  – he slammed his flesh hand against the table again.

 

The metal hand missed its mark, but instead of dodging to the side like he had before, Lucas charged at Ed before he had the chance to send another one in Lucas' direction. Ed ducked a left hook, head throbbing in painful reminder of the injury it had received earlier. Spinning low, Ed moved into a low back stance, hoping to at least defend himself long enough to get an opening.

 

Instead, something hard cracked into his side, and he swore he felt something give just before the world turned gray at the edges. Color returned only after he was on the ground, head pounding, coughing and gagging and realizing that he  _could not breathe._

 

"You never should have come here, Fullmetal," Lucas was saying, though his voice only half-registered in Ed's mind around the blood rushing in his ears. "I can't blame only you for what happened in Lior, so I'll be sure to leave a message for your boss. You still work for Mustang, right?" Ed could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment, but he couldn't get the breath to form the words. "Doesn't matter – I know he's still protecting you, at any rate. He'll come. By damn, he'll come to rescue his kicked puppy, and if he doesn't, this should be more than enough of a message."

 

A rough hand grabbed his metal shoulder and turned him over to his back. The world stopped tilting just long enough for Ed to see a long-bladed knife stabbing downward, and couldn't move before its blade bit deeply into his flesh shoulder. His throat closed when he tried to scream.

 

"Hold still – this needs to be as clear as possible."

 

Before Ed's mind could register what was happening, pain blossomed in his chest, and the gray edges closed in on the rest of his vision once more.

 

 

 

 

Roy Mustang massaged his temples with his fingertips, eyes stinging with grit. He hadn't slept much the previous night, not with the amount of paperwork he had to do. Hawkeye had stayed with him – for his protection and to provide some semblance of company, she'd said, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was really there to make sure he didn't shirk his duties.

 

The situation in Lior was giving him a headache. He had been informed that there might be another uprising on the horizon, whatnot with the racial tension there and the fact that even Parliament had had to employ force in order to suppress some of the other more violent protests. This one might be closer to home, however, and thus Mustang had been instructed by Parliament to arrange to keep tabs on anyone traveling to Central from Lior. He had in his hands a list of residents that were originally from Lior, and had ended up in Central for a variety of reasons, none of which sounded even  _remotely_  suspicious. Mustang began to wonder how much of that report had been fueled by rumor and paranoia.

 

The last hour in his office had been spent staring at the paper, the names blending into one another as Mustang's vision swam from exhaustion. Wasn't there a meeting that evening he had to attend? What time was it, anyway? He glanced at his pocket watch, and saw that it was nearing two in the afternoon.

 

Falman hadn't checked in yet, which meant that Elric still hadn't returned from his appointment with the automail mechanic. And he hadn't yet had lunch; the revelation of which made his stomach growl. Food would help.

 

"Hawkeye," he said suddenly, and she snapped to attention.

 

"Sir?"

 

"Since you probably won't be letting me out of my office until my evening appointment, would you mind finding some sandwiches somewhere?"

 

She blinked at him for a moment. "I'm sure I could come up with something, Sir," she said, apparently realizing that she hadn't had lunch yet, either. "Would you like coffee with that?"

 

Roy smirked. Ah, what he would do without his trusty Hawkeye, he didn't know. "Please."  _For the love of God, please!_

 

"You'd better be here when I get back," she said, grinning.

 

His smirk widened, and then she turned to leave. Even just the prospect of food and caffeine helped him concentrate a little more, and this time, he looked down at the paper with a determined glare. This job wasn't going to get the best of him, dammit; not when he'd worked so hard to get to this point. There would be no more distractions. The sooner he got this under control, the sooner Hawkeye would let him leave the office alive. That, and he could replace his scotch supply that she must have found.

 

_Work first, play later._

 

Most of those who had traveled from Lior to Central were in the capital for work. With the tension mounting in Lior, many had left the city and few returned, leaving a nasty dent in the work economy. Many businesses had closed and moved elsewhere to look for a better customer base, and a large number of such businesses had reopened in Central. Roy felt as though keeping tabs on such honest-looking people would make him appear paranoid, which would only cause further trouble should anyone find out that they were being watched. And yet, Roy couldn't seem to remove them from his list of Liorians to suspect; any one of the people from Lior could have a reason to cause trouble.

 

The headache returned. This was indeed a large mess, one that Roy wasn't sure he was up to handling at the moment.

 

"Sir – I hope ham and cheese is okay with you," Hawkeye said, cutting into Roy's thoughts. He looked up to see her proffering a plate with a sandwich of that exact description sitting on it.

 

He bit back on the comment that would have said  _any_ sandwich would be fine, as long as it was edible. Instead, he took the plate with a calm smile and said, "Thank you."

 

The coffee was black and bitter, just the way he liked it. Hawkeye stood by the window, watching out over the courtyard of the newer Parliamentary buildings as Roy ate; he watched her out of the corner of his vision. She looked slightly anxious, as if she was waiting for someone to walk across the yard below.

 

"Looking for someone in particular?" Roy asked suddenly. She stiffened, then turned and blinked at him.

 

"Colonel Elric has not checked in yet," she replied.

 

Ah, so that troubled her as well. "I have a feeling he's dragging his feet to get back here," Roy replied dismissively. "It's not like he is enjoying the task given to him."

 

Hawkeye sighed, then pinned Roy with a sharp glance. "I know, but I also think that he's beyond the age of putting off the inevitable for so long."

 

She was toying with him, the damn woman. "Are you implying something?"

 

"Of course not, Sir," she said stoically, though her eyes said differently. "I wouldn't dream of it."

 

"If you're that concerned about Fullmetal's whereabouts, maybe you should phone Alphonse. That would be the most logical place for Elric to be if he finished his appointment earlier than scheduled," Roy said, turning back to the stack of papers. "In fact, I would like for you to send a message along to our good boy Alphonse, and remind him to send his errant brother on his way should he stop by there."

 

"Is that an order, Sir?"

 

Roy smirked again.

 

Hawkeye picked up the phone and dialed.

 

"Alphonse? This is General Hawkeye–"

 

Roy tuned out the rest of the conversation as he turned back to the list of names. Perhaps it would be wise to crosscheck any sort of identification that could be found on each of the persons listed, and he made a quick mental note to have Hawkeye send one of his subordinates to retrieve the information for him.

 

"Thank you for your time, Alphonse," Hawkeye was saying. "I'm sorry to bother you."

 

As soon as Hawkeye placed the phone back into the cradle, Roy was surprised to see Hawkeye's brows furrow in thought, and so he didn't even get the chance to open his mouth to ask for the identification papers.

 

"Caleb Lucas..." she muttered. "Sir, was there a Caleb Lucas on that list of yours? The name sounds terribly familiar."

 

Roy recalled seeing the name on the list, and matched Hawkeye's frown with one of his own. "He is," he replied, then as Hawkeye's frown deepened, he suddenly became suspicious. "What are you thinking, General?"

 

"Alphonse has not seen his brother today, but he gave me the name and address of the mechanic Colonel Elric has been seeing."

 

"Caleb Lucas?"

 

Hawkeye nodded. "I hate to sound paranoid, Sir, but–"

 

_If this Caleb Lucas learns that he is equipping the Fullmetal Alchemist with automail, there might be serious trouble,_ Roy finished silently. He looked back at the list of names and occupations, finding Caleb Lucas' name quickly.

 

"He is listed here as an automail mechanic; it doesn't sound terribly suspicious to me."

 

"The Fullmetal Alchemist is a name that most people in Lior are loathe to hear, Sir. The least we could do is check in on him."

 

Roy sighed; he too had a bad feeling that things could get messy if Elric's name got back to Liorian citizens, especially those living in Central. "I understand your concern, General. Assemble a small team – make sure to include a few of Elric's men – and have them ready in fifteen minutes. We'll go check on Elric." He looked at his watch – it was already nearing four in the afternoon, far later than Elric should have been. Perhaps it would be best to expedite the small detail. "Make that ten."

 

"Yes, Sir," Hawkeye said with a crisp salute before she snatched the phone back out of its cradle.

 

The more Roy thought about the situation, the less he liked it. Elric had become far more responsible about checking in this past week, especially since he understood the implications of his peacekeeping mission. He should have checked in by now, especially if there were complications concerning the automail attachments. Roy felt a pang of guilt for not having been more concerned about Elric's tardiness, and the guilt began to pool in a tight ball at the pit of his stomach. Something was terribly wrong, here.

 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pair of his ignition gloves. Hawkeye wasn't going to like this decision, but he was going to join them.

 

 

 

 

Alphonse bit his lip as he placed the phone back into the cradle once he'd finished speaking with General Hawkeye. The fact that his brother hadn't returned yet – it had been nearly six hours since his appointment began – was troubling as hell. He wanted  _so_  badly to believe that Ed had simply gone for some kind of walk to test out his new limbs before heading back, but the part of him that knew better told him to worry. Edward likely would have stopped by Al's place first to show off the new automail.

 

He couldn't do anything about it at the moment, anyway, no matter how badly he wanted to. Instead, he'd given Hawkeye the name and location of the automail mechanic that Edward had gone to see, hoping that she would be able to track him down on her own.

 

Al sighed, glaring down at the note that was now crumpled in his hands. As much as he wanted to go out looking for his errant older brother, he couldn't so simply ignore Hakuro's...  _request_  for an audience. Al wasn't a fool; he immediately had read between the lines of the message well enough to understand that he would not only get himself in a great deal of trouble should he fail to appear, but he also knew that Edward would take a huge hit for it.

 

It wasn't a secret to Alphonse that Mustang had blocked Hakuro from proceeding with Edward's court martial. Nobody had said anything of the sort directly to his face, but it was something that simply went unsaid. Even if it wasn't their fault that they'd been brought back to Amestris, there were going to be questions. Mustang had once again taken the role of silent guardian, regardless of whether Ed actually wanted his help. Truth be told, Alphonse was extremely grateful to have Mustang pulling for them, even if he knew that Mustang was likely reaping other benefits from the unspoken alliance.

 

The note from Hakuro had contained a simple, concise request for a private supper that evening. There had been no mention of questions, Edward, or even a demand. Just a place, time, and a polite request to attend. And damned if Edward hadn't chosen to go missing on the one night that Alphonse felt the most uncomfortable canceling plans to look for him.

 

_Stupid brother,_  Alphonse nearly muttered aloud.

 

He needed to get a nicer suit for dinner, and hoped that he could stick Ed's disappearance on the back-burners of his mind long enough to keep both himself and his brother out of trouble during "casual" dinner conversation. Hakuro was a shrewd man, and Alphonse wasn't about to give him any sort of foothold upon which he could build a case against them. After what they'd done for Hakuro, Alphonse had initially been surprised at how quickly the older man put through a demand for a court martial on Edward once they'd returned. Even though Al's memory of Hakuro was mostly through what he'd managed to extract in gilded tales from Edward during their travels in Europe, he had a feeling that the man had changed since their first encounter with him.

 

That was another thing that infuriated him at times; he knew that a lot of things had happened in the four year gap he had in his memory, and while Edward had been rather generous in filling in most of the information Alphonse asked him for – the vast majority that Al hadn't figured out from his travels during the two years they had been separated – there were times that Edward hadn't seemed to be telling him the  _entire_ truth.

 

Alphonse felt like he was being blindsided sometimes, and it made him want to tear his hair out. This was one of those situations; he hoped desperately that Hakuro didn't ask him questions that he would answer in such a way that he put them under suspicion simply because he was ignorant.

 

After dinner was over, he was going to give Mustang's office a call. If they hadn't found his brother by then, he was going to go find Edward on his own, and then make sure his brother got an earful.

 

_Stupid, stupid older brother._

 

 

 

 

Hawkeye did  _not_  like Roy's decision at all, but even against her likely better judgment, Roy stood firm upon his insistence to join the small "check-on-Elric" detail. The small knot of anxiety that had formed in the pit of Roy's stomach had grown, pulling on his insides and making him feel almost sick with worry. Damned if Fullmetal was old and experienced enough to take care of himself; Roy wasn't going to let the fact that he'd kept Fullmetal in the dark hurt the younger alchemist. He managed to maintain a stoic face, but by the way Hawkeye kept sending him worried looks, he had a feeling that she could tell he was tense. He needed to  _calm the hell down_ , and take this one step at a time.

 

Maybe he was wrong – perhaps he would find Elric sprawled out on a couch, dozing off a round of painkillers to stave off the pain of the nerve attachments. Elric would be flustered to realize that he had overslept, and Roy would pounce on his embarrassment like a dog on meat. Or – if there was actually an altercation between Elric and the mechanic – perhaps he would find Elric smirking, sitting on his enemy triumphantly and mockingly scolding Roy for showing up too late to join in on the fun.

 

At least, that was what Roy hoped he'd find. A good snarking match with Fullmetal was a far better outcome than seeing him, say, dead. Fullmetal was smart and strong; he should have been able to handle any problems that might have come up. Roy and his small back-up team had driven over as soon as Hawkeye learned that Elric's new automail mechanic was from Lior, just in case Elric hadn't realized it himself and had run into a problem.

 

The poor bastard had run into a great deal of bad luck, if that was the case. Caleb Lucas was the  _only_  Liorian automail mechanic in Central.

 

From the outside, Lucas Automail looked like an average two-story building, though when Roy pressed a hand against the closed door, he could immediately feel the displaced energy from several alchemic reactions. Roy's heart felt like it was throbbing from inside his throat, and he quickly motioned for Hawkeye and the others to be prepared. Something had happened here.

 

Hawkeye slowly opened the door. Roy's first concern that Fullmetal had been taken entirely by surprise were quelled when he saw the utter destruction inside. The main counter had been splintered in several places, bookshelves were toppled, and tools and books were strewn across the room as if a hurricane had thrown them. There was no sign of either Elric or the mechanic.

 

Hawkeye nodded over her shoulder to the other accompanying soldiers – Breda and Havoc, of Roy's band, and Murray and Daniels of Fullmetal's subordinates – and stepped over the debris to enter the shop. Roy followed her closely, gloved fingers poised just in case. He motioned to Daniels to have him watch the car, and stationed Breda at the shop's entrance. The three remaining soldiers followed him as he picked his way through the shop, fingers still in position and ready for action.

 

The shop was too quiet, and had clearly been so for some time. Roy felt his stomach twist just a little in worry – Fullmetal's appointment had been a few hours ago, and if they hadn't heard back from him with the shop looking this bad, it could spell trouble for the colonel. Guilt soon followed; perhaps he really should have listened to Elric's appeal to the traveling restrictions so that he could have contacted Winry Rockbell instead. But again, the mechanic likely would have found another way to get to Elric, if the now-legendary alchemist had indeed been the target.

 

There was a door at the back of the shop that hung open, half off its hinges. The fight had moved to wherever that door opened to – a staircase, Roy discovered once he was close enough. The staircase led downward into a dimly lit corridor, which Roy followed cautiously. He couldn't hear anything coming from the stairs, which felt wrong.

 

Where was Fullmetal?

 

With Murray stationed at the splintered door, Roy had Havoc and Hawkeye follow him down the narrow, dimly-lit stairwell. It wasn't quite wide enough to allow for the comfortable passage of more than one individual at a time. Hopefully, that wouldn't be necessary, though it would prove favorable for cutting off any attempted escapes by the mechanic. The stairs wound downward a quarter-flight at a time; Roy had counted four sections of stairs when the stairwell finally ended at an open concrete room filled with what one might expect to find in the basement of any automail shop. Scrap metal, spare parts, tools, and the like were scattered across the floor and workbenches, of which there were several. Much of the material had been clearly displaced by force. What struck Roy as odd for a mere mechanic, however, was the fact that a vast number of alchemic arrays were graffitied on the walls and floor of the basement.

 

So, this mechanic was also an alchemist, it would appear. A well-read one at that. No wonder Elric had trouble with the guy. Maybe Elric  _was_ a little too rusty, and that thought send another pang of guilt through Roy's stomach for not listening and letting him train more.

 

Roy cut off the thought, and instead focused on his current task: making sure that this alchemist-mechanic wasn't hiding behind some workbench, waiting to ambush their party. He heard nothing except for the faint hiss of his own controlled breathing, and the quiet footsteps of his party as they followed behind him. As far as he could tell, nobody else was there.

 

That notion was destroyed the moment he passed a workbench near the far wall and found a larger open space at the back of the room. Roy's heart froze in his chest; in the middle of that open space, Edward Elric – the Fullmetal Alchemist – lay sprawled on his back, his bared chest smeared with blood, the smooth wooden handle of a long-bladed knife sticking up from his flesh left shoulder like a beacon, metal arm stretched to one side above a transmutation circle as if bound by an invisible force. His metal leg stayed rigid, an identical circle on the floor under it as well. He had been stripped to a pair of sport shorts, which were now ruined with blood and a few stray slashes through the cloth. It looked like he had been wearing a shirt at some point, but only tattered, bloody scraps remained, hanging pathetically around Fullmetal's torso. Fullmetal had been dressed as though he was there on a planned appointment to get his automail attached, not to fight. So he hadn't known anything, not until he had shown up.

 

"Fullmetal!" Dropping his hand, Roy quickly closed the distance between the two of them and knelt in a growing pool of blood beside Elric's still body, trying hard to ignore the lukewarm liquid that seeped through the cloth of his uniform trousers at the knees.

 

Half of Elric's face was smeared with blood and his lips were tinged blue; Roy tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth and pressed two fingers to the younger man's neck to check for a pulse. It was there – faint – but Elric wasn't breathing, at least not properly. Roy had to wonder if the blade in Fullmetal's shoulder had hit his lung, or if he had broken ribs.

 

"Havoc! Call the medics, now!" Roy shouted over his shoulder, not quite managing to mask the panic in his voice. Havoc gulped and saluted before he whirled and ran back up the stairs. Turning back to his charge, Roy patted Fullmetal's cold cheek harshly. "Fullmetal – wake up!" When he didn't get an immediate response, he repeated the action, and suddenly Fullmetal's eyelids flew wide open in panic and he gasped painfully. Roy released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Get a grip!"

 

Elric blinked slowly and seemed to have trouble focusing as he looked blearily up at Roy. A thin, grim snarl tugged at the corner of his blue lips.

 

"Y-You idiot," he said, voice thick and hoarse from overuse – Roy realized he'd probably been screaming, and stifled the curse he wanted to utter.

 

"Don't talk," Roy ordered, trying to assess Elric's injuries.

 

There were several wounds on the younger man's chest that became the obvious source of the blood smeared everywhere, but while they looked gory, they weren't life-threatening. The shoulder wound was of more concern in Roy's mind at this point; if Elric was having trouble breathing, then there was a chance that the blade had indeed scraped his lung. Even if it hadn't something else was likely impairing his ability to breathe. He would need serious medical attention, and soon.

 

Taking a closer look at the transmutation circle under Fullmetal's automail arm, Roy realized that it was for the concrete rather than the arm itself – the bastard had transmuted a section of it into a strong magnet and had used it as a restraint. There was a similar one under Fullmetal's left leg as well, likely for the same purpose. The magnets would have to be released first. Roy pulled out a piece of chalk to draw a circle to reverse the transmutation.

 

"D-Don't," Elric said, making Roy pause.

 

"Fullmetal, the magnets have to go." But before Roy could reach towards the circle, Elric pulled his pinned arm up with surprising speed and grabbed Roy's wrist.

 

"D-Damn it, you… idiot," Fullmetal hissed breathlessly, making Roy raise an eyebrow. "B-Bomb – the bastard… turned it into… a bomb; I w-wasn't… his prim-...primary target." He coughed harshly, wincing from the movement. Blood spotted on his clenched teeth, and Roy knew they didn't have time for arguing. Then Fullmetal placed his hand over his chest, trying to wipe the smeared blood away.  _What the hell?_

 

The kid wasn't making any sense, unless… Roy's train of thought died the moment he saw the wounds in Fullmetal's chest – they had been deliberately carved there as a clear message:

 

_FUCK YOU, ROY MUSTANG._

 

_God._  Fullmetal was being used as bait. Whoever had gone after him had a higher goal in mind, and knew the relationship between the Elric brothers and himself well enough to know that he would personally come after Fullmetal should the going get rough. There would need to be a more serious investigation launched into this case – it had gone from a simple suspect of upheaval to a potential assassin problem.

 

"Shit." Roy scrubbed his only clean hand over his face. "Just the arm?" he asked sternly, trying to get Elric's glassy gaze to focus on him to make sure he had a lucid answer. He needed to know if there were any other traps laying around.

 

It took the kid a moment to focus, but when he did, his golden eyes were dead serious when he slowly shook his head. "L-Leg, too," he said quietly. "You shouldn't… have been the one… to come after me."

 

"Too late for that now," Roy muttered. "Someone had to come save your sorry ass."

 

Fullmetal grunted, as much of a laugh as Roy would get out of him for his poor attempt at humor. After that, Fullmetal was quiet, giving Roy a chance to think the situation through. The bastard had somehow either transmuted the automail into a bomb that would be triggered by the magnet's release, or it had been a bomb in the first place. Either way, Roy had nearly blown them both up. God, if Fullmetal hadn't stopped him…

 

Couldn't go there. Not now. Roy would have to remove the arm and leg, even if he really didn't want to – Fullmetal was in enough pain as it was. This was going to be tricky, trying to remove the arm and leg without jostling him too much and without setting off the bombs. The logical voice in the back of Roy's mind told him that he should have someone else doing this instead; it wouldn't do for the head of the military to blow himself up by accident. But part of him guiltily reminded him that he was partially responsible for dragging Fullmetal into this.

 

Roy shot him an apologetic glance as he reached for the plated shoulder, fingers feeling gently for a release for the arm. Careful not to move the automail too much, he finally found the catch, and shooting another warning glance down at Fullmetal, he braced one hand on the automail and gave the younger man's shoulder a quick tug. A pained cry escaped Fullmetal's clenched teeth, but at least there hadn't been an explosion. Moving down to Fullmetal's leg, he pulled the catch there as well, and managed to get the leg free without moving the automail. Fullmetal hissed again as the movement jarred the blade in his shoulder.

 

"Sorry," Roy offered lamely.

 

"Asshole," Fullmetal said with a bloody smirk, but it quickly faded into a dazed expression. He was losing too much blood–

 

_Shit._  "Stay with me, Fullmetal," Roy insisted, grabbing Elric's cold cheeks in his hands and forcing him to look at him. He was going into shock.  _Shit, shit, shit!_

 

"…M'tired."

 

"Hang on just a little longer, and you can sleep all you want," Roy said, but Fullmetal's eyes slid closed anyway. "Fullmetal! _Edward_!" He harshly patted Elric's cut cheek, and Fullmetal's eyes slowly opened again, staring at a point somewhere beyond Roy.

 

"Al?" he whispered.

 

"He'll be here soon," Roy said, even though it was a lie. Alphonse likely didn't even know something had gone wrong yet; he would have to give the boy a call once Fullmetal was on his way to the hospital. "Don't sleep yet."

 

"Sir, the medics are still fifteen minutes out," Hawkeye said quietly from behind.

 

Roy swore again; that was going to take far too long. He looked over his shoulder and pinned Hawkeye a sharp glance. "Get the car ready."

 

"Yes, sir," she replied quietly, and turned to motion to Breda.

 

Roy looked back down at Fullmetal, biting his lip. He was going to have to pull the blade free; it was still pinning Elric to the floor, and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

 

"This is going to hurt," he said softly in warning as he placed one hand on Fullmetal's flesh shoulder. Roy had to force his other hand from shaking as he gripped the handle of the knife with the other. Elric whimpered softly as the blade shifted ever so slightly with the movement, and suddenly Hawkeye was beside them both, holding Elric's shoulders down as she gave Roy a determined nod.

 

To Fullmetal's credit, he barely uttered more than a muffled cry of pain through gritted teeth as Roy jerked the blade free. Blood spurted from the wound, flying in a small arc as Roy tossed the blade aside. Hawkeye had removed her jacket and was pressing it to the wound before Roy could even blink.

 

"He's going into shock," she said quietly.

 

"I know," Roy replied, also pulling off his jacket and spreading it across Fullmetal's bare chest. "We need to get him out of here; we can't wait for the medic. Is the car ready?"

 

"It will be when we get there," Hawkeye said.

 

"Winry?" Fullmetal asked. He'd probably heard Hawkeye's voice and assumed in his delirium that he was somewhere else. "Thought… you'd never come."

 

Hawkeye cast a pitying look down at Fullmetal before she brushed his hair gently from his face. "Don't talk," she murmured.

 

"So bossy," Elric whispered.

 

Roy moved one arm carefully under Fullmetal's neck, and the other behind his flesh knee, careful not to move the automail bombs that were still attached to the floor. Fullmetal moaned as Roy stood, picking the younger alchemist up bridal-style (Fullmetal would  _hate_  that term, Roy found himself musing in giddy, panicked humor) and trying to ignore the blood as he clutched Elric to his chest and hurried for the stairs. Elric was heavier than he would have expected without the automail, but then again, the young man was now four years older and had grown more – filled out more – since the last time he'd been on this side of the Gate.

 

The stairwell seemed longer than Roy remembered, and he knew he really should probably get back into better shape. He was nearly panting by the time he got to the main floor of the shop; Riza was right on his heels, and they both nearly knocked Murray over from his post at the top of the stairwell.

 

"Colonel!" Murray exclaimed with wide eyes when he saw Mustang carrying his boss.

 

"Cover us on our way out of the shop," Mustang ordered. "The assailant still hasn't been accounted for; he might still be out there."

 

Murray gulped and nodded, taking a deep breath before he gripped his pistol tightly in both hands and moved in front of Mustang, aiming at the roof across the street on his way out the door. Breda was right behind him. Hawkeye followed behind Mustang, one pistol in each hand as she aimed behind the small procession. Murray paused as Daniels looked directly at him; Mustang could only surmise that they were communicating somehow. Teamwork – it was a good start for Fullmetal's subordinates. The kid would be proud.

 

Daniels started the car, looking at the roof of the automail mechanic's shop once he'd done so. A curt nod, and Murray followed, turning to aim his pistol at the roof as well as he moved across the narrow street on the outside of the shop. He got to the car and quickly opened the door to the back as Breda continued keeping an eye on the roof, pistol trained and ready to fire in case.

 

Mustang waited for a quick hand signal from Breda before he made his way across the street. Without looking, he knew Hawkeye was close behind, covering their retreat. He tried not to run; he wanted to avoid jarring Fullmetal's injuries if he could, but he needed to hurry at the same time. The longer they were in the open, the more opportunities Fullmetal's assailant would have to–

 

The sound of a gunshot registered almost a moment after he felt a heavy blow smash into his shoulder. He staggered the last two feet to the open door, ears ringing as shouts and more gunfire erupted around him. The weight in his arms was taken from him and he was shoved unceremoniously into the back seat of the car, vision blurring.

 

"Minister!" The car door slammed behind him. Someone was pressing something into his shoulder and had hands pressing his head down to his knees, and it  _hurt_  and  _ohgod–_

 

"Go, Daniels! Now! Gogo _go_!"

 

Mustang hissed as his back and shoulders slammed backwards into the seat behind him, the faint sound of tires squealing as the car lurched forward. Several sharp pings of ricocheting bullets peppered the side of the car briefly before they were clear of the line of fire.

 

"Minister? Shit, Mustang's bleeding!"

 

"How fast can you get us to the hospital?"

 

"Ten minutes–"

 

"Not fast enough! Goddamnit, drive faster, boy!"

 

"Roy, can you hear me? Roy?"

 

"Damn it, Daniels! Stop driving like a grandma – this is  _not_  the time!"

 

"Shit!"

 

Mustang blinked, trying desperately to focus around the bright lights spotting his vision. Fullmetal needed him to stay focused, sharp. Pain flared from his shoulder, bringing him back to reality. Hawkeye was kneeling on the floor of the car in front of him, delicate fingers examining the wound. Blood coated her hands, but Roy wasn't sure if it was all Fullmetal's, or if some of it was his.

 

"Are you with us, Sir?" she asked softly, once she realized he was watching her with some semblance of lucidity.

 

He hesitated a moment before nodding once. Riza's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she turned her attention back to his shoulder.  _Dammit, I've been shot,_  it finally occurred to him. Taking stock, he realized that he was half-slumped against the car door, and that Murray was sitting diagonally in the other end of the benched back seat with Elric propped up against him. Murray was pale as he kept one arm wrapped around Elric's shoulders, the other around the boy's head. But even in comparison, Elric's face was sheet-white, lips still tinged that unsettling color of purple-blue, Riza's uniform jacket still draped across his chest. Blood was smeared everywhere in the back of the car as if it was the scene of a gruesome murder.

 

"Ch-Check on Fullmetal," Roy said, voice shaking.

 

Riza nodded, and then she wadded up what Roy could only guess was Murray's jacket - the kid was no longer wearing one at this point - and pressed it harshly against the wound. Roy hissed as pain flared from his shoulder and spread across his collar bone and down his arm.

 

"Hold that there, Sir," Riza ordered firmly before she shifted along the floor of the car to get to Fullmetal.

 

Roy watched through half-lidded eyes as Riza had Murray shift so that she could more easily work, and she hissed as she gently pulled the jacket down to expose Elric's bloody chest. Murray let out a soft, sympathetic moan when he saw the damage. The cuts were still bleeding, albeit sluggishly, and the wound in Elric's shoulder oozed blood at an alarming rate. The edges of that wound had become red and inflamed; Riza noted the change as well, as she frowned when she leaned in to get a closer look. She pressed an ear against Elric's chest, ignoring the fact that she was getting the young man's blood all over half of her face. Her eyes widened.

 

"How much further?" Riza demanded.

 

"Three blocks," Daniels replied uneasily, voice shrill with panic. "That is, as long as we don't encounter further traffic."

 

"Gun it; Elric isn't breathing."

 

"Damn it!"

 

More curses came from the front seat - Breda's voice - but they were muffled by the time they reached Roy's ears. The car spun, but Roy no longer could tell which direction was up as black swarmed across his vision. He tried to fight unconsciousness, but lost as the blackness took over his mind as well.

 

 

 

 

Roy jerked awake, eyes widening and not registering the sound of his own gasp until after he'd shot upright in the bed, dull pain blossoming in his shoulder from the movement. Hissing, he placed one hand over the throbbing appendage, grasping desperately for a recollection to remind him why it hurt, and why the hell he wasn't in his own bed and why his shoulder was hurting so damn much and why his stomach was lurching.

 

White walls – crisp sheets – soft cotton pants – bandages binding his shoulder – stinging in the crook of his elbow, confirmed to be an IV line with a short glance...

 

_Hospital. Gunshot wound. Fullmetal not breathing. Fullmetal...?_

 

_... Shit._

 

"Sir?"

 

Hawkeye's voice, accompanied by the scrape of chair legs against the ground. He blinked, finally  _seeing_  the room and realizing that he wasn't alone. There were two shadows underneath the door to his room – guards, presumably – and then there was Hawkeye. Hawkeye had been sitting in a chair near the window, and was now standing beside his bed, looking down at him with a worried expression.

 

"Sir? Are you all right?" she asked, fingertips gently brushing the back of his hand.

 

She looked exhausted, but relieved when he managed to nod. Clearing his throat painfully – Hawkeye turned to grab him a plastic cup off the nightstand and fill it with water – he frowned and opened his mouth to ask questions.

 

"Not now," Hawkeye said sternly, poking Roy's lips with the straw. He drank greedily. "You've only been out half a day, and you're damned lucky that you didn't need surgery to get the bullet out of your shoulder."

 

Roy pulled away from the straw and opened his mouth to ask more questions anyway, but this time his stomach lurched again and interrupted him. Hawkeye apparently knew the nauseous look when she saw it, and grabbed an empty plastic bowl off the counter and held it under Roy's chin just before he hurled up the entire glass of water he'd just finished drinking.

 

"Maybe I shouldn't have let you drink that so quickly," Hawkeye murmured once he'd finished. "The doctor did say that the painkillers might make you sick to your stomach."

 

Roy could only groan in reply, glaring up at the IV bags holding the drugs. No wonder his shoulder didn't hurt as badly as it could have, though he could do without the nausea. He needed to be sharp – to know that his men were okay, that Fullmetal hadn't...

 

"Fullmetal?" he managed to croak after a moment.

 

Hawkeye hesitated as she moved across the room to clean out the bowl. "I'm sorry, Sir..."

 

Roy felt the color drain from his face, and he almost didn't hear the rest of what Hawkeye was saying.

 

"... supposed to be out of surgery an hour ago, but I haven't heard from his physician yet."

 

_Surgery._  They wouldn't be doing surgery on a dead man, which meant–

 

"...He's alive?" He was almost surprised at how drained his own voice sounded.

 

Hawkeye nodded, but still didn't look back in Mustang's direction. "Yes, he is."  _For the time being_  – Roy heard the unspoken words almost as clearly as if they'd been said aloud.

 

"How... how bad is it?"

 

This time, Hawkeye turned to face him. "I... I don't know, Sir, but it's pretty bad."

 

Roy wasn't sure if it was the drugs, or his own emotions getting out of hand, but he was certain he felt the weird, wet stinging behind his eyelids. His jaw hurt where his teeth ground together. _Damn it._

 

"You should get some sleep, Sir," Hawkeye said, hands smoothing the blankets covering him. "I will be sure to let you know anything as soon as there is anything to tell."

 

"But–"

 

"That's an order, Sir." Hawkeye glared at him sternly. "Your doctor has already given me temporary authority here. With all due respect,  _Sir_ , worrying yourself sick will not help Fullmetal recover."

 

Roy had half a mind to retort that he was not worrying, and damn the doctor's orders, he was still in charge here. But the drugs spoke for him, lulling him gently back to the dark before he could open his mouth.

 

_Hawkeye's fault._

 

He shot her one last glare before he drifted away again.

 

 

 

 

The hospital room was cold, colder than what Alphonse thought was comfortable. Part of him knew that he was imagining it out of his own fear, but it was at least a little chilly in there to the nurses when they came in, wasn't it? Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his front, rubbing his shoulders and hoping for warmth from the friction.

 

Turning an eye to the only bed in the room, Al watched as his brother slept, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically to the tune of the machines he was hooked up to. An IV line ran from Ed's flesh elbow, keeping him unconscious. Al found himself staring where Ed's new automail limbs should have been, knowing that his brother would be unhappy to feel so immobile again once – _not if_ – he awoke. Al bit his lip so hard he drew blood, and forced himself to watch out the window for a while.

 

Minutes ticked by, and a nurse came in to check Ed's vitals. Al moved away long enough to give the nurse room, ignoring the pitying looks she sent his way once she'd finished and began walking out of the room. Perhaps he was being too hard on himself, but he couldn't help it.

 

Al turned to watch his brother's impassive face, wincing at how pale and sunken it looked in his drug-induced rest. The doctors had said they didn't want him awake yet; otherwise there would be complications with the breathing tube they'd shoved down his throat. Once his lungs were repaired enough to let him breathe on his own, they said, Edward would be allowed to wake up and have the tube removed.

 

Shivering again, Al rubbed his hands together for warmth before he reached over to Edward's face and brushed an errant lock of long, blond hair out of his brother's closed eyes. Grasping his brother's only hand in his own, Al pressed it to his forehead, trying desperately not to let the tears forming behind his eyelids fall.

 

It had been close, this time – too damn close. Edward hadn't been breathing when they'd brought him in, and during their attempt to get him breathing again, his heart had stopped. They had brought him back, but they were wary throughout the entire surgery as they worked desperately to repair the rent in his lungs from a broken rib, and to keep the lung inflated so that it wouldn't collapse again. The concussion had only complicated the surgery further, making it last two hours longer than they had anticipated.

 

Al whimpered softly, squeezing his brother's hand harder. He needed to stop thinking about in terms of what could have been. His brother was  _alive_ , still breathing, heart still beating. The doctors had been optimistic that he would recover, given time and plenty of rest. But Alphonse couldn't help but feel guilty that he hadn't been there with his brother, protecting and watching his back.

 

Wasn't he the one who had damaged Ed's prosthetics in the first place?

 

_Not this cycle again._

 

He had to take his focus off of the could-have's; blaming himself wasn't going to help his brother recover. Edward needed him, and Al wasn't going to let him down.

 

Al looked up again at Edward's face, trying to imagine the glittering gold eyes that burned beneath the closed, bruised-looking eyelids, and a smirk twisting the lips that were currently crushed around the breathing tube. Ed would hate him moping around like this, hovering like a "damn mother hen," as he'd probably put it.

 

"You really are a handful, Brother," Al murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I turn my back on you for one minute and look at what you go do to yourself!"

 

In Al's mind, Ed protested, insisting that it wasn't his fault he walked face-first into a trap. Al couldn't help but chuckle at the expression he saw in his mind on his brother's face, but it faded when it was slowly replaced with the still, dead expression Ed wore in reality.

 

"I'm going to find who did this to you," Al said in a shaking, determined whisper. "I will find him, and I will show him that he chose the wrong family to mess with."

 

A forced cough from across the room made Al jump in his seat, his ears burning with sudden embarrassment – how long had the other person been listening?

 

"Alphonse Elric, why am I not surprised to see you here?"

 

Al shot to his feet as soon as his eyes and ears finally  _talked_ to his brain and he realized who the voice and figure at the door belonged to.

 

"Minister!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you!"

 

Mustang smirked, though Alphonse didn't miss the lines of pain around the older man's lips. Followed closely by Hawkeye, Mustang made his way into the room, standing as tall as he could manage with his arm in a sling. Alphonse offered his chair with a gesture, and before Mustang could refuse the offer, Hawkeye had ushered him into it.

 

"How is he?" Mustang asked once he'd been settled. "Any change?"

 

Alphonse sighed, finding himself staring at his brother. "None, though the doctor says it's to be expected. They don't want Brother to awaken for another day, possibly two."

 

He looked back at Mustang, almost surprised to see an air of grief in the way Mustang leaned forward on his unrestricted elbow and regarded Edward with a worried frown. His free hand reached out to press against Ed's cheek, almost as if he wanted to verify for himself that the young man in the hospital bed was indeed alive. It occurred to Alphonse then that this was the first time Mustang had seen Ed since the day they'd both been brought to the hospital.

 

"He's so pale," Mustang murmured, as if speaking to himself.

 

Al chewed on his bottom lip. At first, he'd been angry with the man for being so obstinate when it came to Ed's repairs, but watching how Mustang beat himself up over the same issue gave Al an odd sort of relief, if not pity towards the older alchemist. For the first time, Al noticed how much  _older_  Mustang looked, seeing the early signs of worry lines around the Minister's eyes and lips and across his forehead. He looked  _tired_ , really and truly exhausted.

 

Mustang had only been trying to protect them with the restrictions he'd placed on them, Al realized. He'd been telling his brother the same for as long in order to keep him from doing anything stupid, but Al hadn't really  _believed_ what he'd said until now.

 

"Edward is strong, Mustang," Al said, placing a comforting hand on the Minister's shoulder. "He'll pull through this."

 

Mustang smiled wearily. "It still doesn't make it any easier to watch him in the process," he said quietly. "But thank you."

 

Hawkeye took that moment to direct Mustang back to his own hospital room. She turned after she got a nurse moving Mustang in the right direction, and then turned and matched Al's gaze with a serious expression.

 

"Get some rest, Alphonse," she said.

 

Al smiled and nodded. She tossed him a crisp salute, then turned and left the room. She was right – he really could feel the last several days of keeping vigil over his brother in the grit in his eyes and the bone-tired weariness that came with every movement he made, but he was determined to be here for his brother when he finally awoke.

 

 

 

 

The doctors unhooked the drugs and removed the breathing tube two days later, and left it out once they saw that Edward was breathing on his own again. They placed a mask over his mouth to feed him oxygen while he slept, just in case. Alphonse waited four hours, noting with growing alarm that Edward wasn't waking up. The next nurse that walked in the door nearly stepped back in alarm when Al practically jumped her with questions; she took a deep breath and told him that Ed's body likely was trying to process the rest of the drugs out of his system before he would wake up. Even though she used a placating tone, Alphonse let the nurse's theory calm him. Panicking wouldn't help his brother heal. The doctor left Ed on painkillers in the meantime.

 

Around lunchtime on the day after the doctor removed the breathing tube, Alphonse noticed a little color returning to his brother's cheeks. Alphonse sat by the bed and watched, hoping it was a sign of Ed's return to the world of the living. Another hour, and Ed's eyes started to move beneath the eyelids; thirty minutes later, his lashes fluttered and his eyes slowly opened.

 

"Brother!" Alphonse exclaimed. "Oh, thank God..."

 

Ed's half-lidded eyes wandered about the room before they settled on Alphonse, and then he frowned, moving his arm slightly to try to push himself up.

 

"Lay still, Brother," Al said softly, placing a hand on Ed's arm. "They've still got you hooked up to an IV. How are you feeling?"

 

" _Where–_ " Ed croaked, ignoring Al's question. Al winced at how dry Ed's throat sounded, and moved to pull the mask off of his face long enough to let him drink something.

 

"Hospital," he replied, bringing over a glass of water with a straw sticking out from the top. "Do you remember what happened?"

 

Ed's brows furrowed in concentration, even when Al placed the straw on Ed's lips and let him drink as much as he could handle. He couldn't handle much, and pulled away from the glass after he'd drained half of it, still frowning.

 

"Lucas," Ed said in a low voice. " _Damn_ it." He swallowed, looking around the room again, as if actually  _looking_  for something. Mustang, most likely.

 

Al placed the water on the tray next to the bed. "Minister Mustang visited earlier this morning to check in on you. I'm supposed to give him a call once you're awake," he said. "They released him from the hospital yesterday, though he's still off-duty until the doctors clear him."

 

"What?" Ed's eyes went wide, and suddenly he was trying to sit up. "That stupid  _bastard_ – unghhh..." He slumped back against the pillow with a groan of pain, his flesh hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

"I told you to lay still, Brother," Al said with a sigh. "You had a concussion, so it's no surprise that you still have a headache. And you're not supposed to be moving around anyway, especially not with your other injuries. You managed to break a rib, and it hit your lung – they had to do surgery. You're lucky to be alive."

 

Ed's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, and he only seemed to half-hear what Al was saying. " _Damn_ it, that hurts," he said weakly, moving his hand from his nose to feel around his side.

 

"Don't touch the sutures," Al said, putting his hand back on Edward's. "They're in your back; the doctor doesn't want you pulling them loose."

 

Ed scowled, but complied anyway. "This sucks."

 

"You never were a good patient," Al said with a wry smile. "Hang on, let me go get the doctor. Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

 

"I don't feel up to mischief anyway," Ed replied seriously.

 

Al frowned – it was as much of an admission of serious pain as he would get from his brother – but he turned to get a nurse anyway. When he returned with the doctor instead, Edward was already out again. The doctor moved aside the sheets and tested Ed's vitals before he moved to pull away the bandages around his torso. Al had to turn away; he couldn't stand seeing the message – plain as day, now that it was healing – that the automail mechanic had etched into Edward's chest.

 

"The drugs are likely making him sleepy," the doctor explained. "He'll be pretty drowsy yet, but I'm glad to hear that he did wake fully. It's a good sign."

 

Al exhaled in relief. "How long will he need to be here?" he asked.

 

"He'll need to stay another several days, at least until we remove the stitches," the doctor replied, examining the sutures as he spoke. "I want to make sure he doesn't develop any other lung conditions in the meantime. We tend to keep an eye on pneumothorax patients for complications for a full week after surgery. I also want to keep him on the oxygen mask while he's asleep until we release him. Did he drink anything?"

 

"He was able to handle a half-glass of water," Al said, "but that was about all."

 

"If he was able to keep it down, that's also a good sign," the doctor said. "That means the drugs aren't making him sick to his stomach."

 

"He's still hurting, though."

 

"Did he say so?"

 

Al snorted. "My brother is never one to directly admit he's in a lot of pain, but the fact that he said  _anything_  makes me worry."

 

The doctor seemed to make a silent note of that bit of information, and then said, "I'll see what we can do about that."

 

"Thank you," Al said.

 

He waited in silence as the doctor finished his examination, and then began redressing the wounds and incisions. Once he was finished, he placed the mask back over Ed's mouth and nose, and then turned back to Alphonse.

 

"Your brother is healing well," he announced brightly. "Give him a few days, and he'll seem more like his old self, I'm sure. Let me know if he wakes up again; I'd like to ask him a few questions just to be sure the head injury is healing well enough, but go ahead and let him sleep for now. He needs the rest."

 

Al nodded and thanked him again as the doctor washed his hands, and then sat down by the bed once the doctor was gone.

 

"You idiot," Al murmured affectionately as he brushed the bangs out of his brother's sleeping face. "I'm glad you're okay."

 

 

 

 

If Roy had realized that checking himself out of the hospital apparently gave General Hakuro the right to come visit him  _in his own damn home_ , he would have stayed at least another day or two. Honestly, did the man have no sense of  _leave me the hell alone_  without Mustang having to point it out to him directly? His shoulder hurt, his painkillers were giving him a stomachache, and he just wanted to lay down and drown in a bottle of good scotch.

 

Not that the alcohol would help his stomach any, but by the time he got to that point, he really wouldn't give a damn.

 

"Minister Mustang," Hakuro greeted with a bow as he entered Roy's living room.

 

"General," Roy said flatly. "To what occasion do I owe this honor?"

 

Hakuro wasn't stupid, and did catch the subtle angered nuance in Roy's tone – he managed to look at least a little sheepish. "Is this a bad time?"

 

_Well._  Really, it wasn't a bad time in terms of Roy's recently-vacated schedule. Roy was more irritated and crabby and not in the mood to put up with the political headaches he knew Hakuro was more than capable of providing. That part wasn't Hakuro's fault. Perhaps he'd at least see what the man wanted, and if Roy decided he didn't want to talk about it, he would bow out with a physical complaint of some kind, and have Hawkeye escort the man out of his quarters.

 

"Have a seat, General." Roy gestured to the empty seat in the sitting area, across the coffee table from him. Hakuro sat. "What can I do for you?"

 

Hakuro regarded him seriously, though he seemed to hesitate a moment before he spoke. "I want to discuss what happened at Lucas Automail, Minister," he said gravely.

 

Ah. Hakuro wanted to know how Roy had managed to get himself shot in such a public spot, and why he'd been there in the first place. This was going to be a headache, but he knew that Hakuro was in charge of the report at this point. Roy sighed and then took a sip of the water Hawkeye had left for him on the table.

 

"Honestly?" he said after a moment. "I'm not entirely sure of the full circumstances. From all appearances, Caleb Lucas attacked Colonel Elric during his automail appointment and critically injured him, and then either Lucas or one of his cohorts shot at the rescue party while trying to get Elric to the hospital."

 

"Are you sure those shots were aimed at only you?" Hakuro asked.

 

Roy hesitated. No, he wasn't certain that he was the only target on the scene. "It's uncertain; the message Lucas carved into Elric's chest was clearly aimed at me, but it does appear that the attack had initially been aimed at Elric alone. Lucas might have been trying to finish the job."

 

Hakuro looked down at his hands. "You know the press is going to make this look like an assassination attempt," he said. "The questions they've been asking me have led me to believe they intend to indicate our guests from Xing as the suspects behind the attack."

 

Roy choked on his sip of water. " _What_?" he exclaimed after he'd cleared his throat. "That isn't what happened at all! Caleb Lucas is a refugee from  _Lior_  – this does not have a damn thing to do with Xing or its espionage problem!"

 

"You know how sensitive Parliament is to ethnic tension, Mustang," Hakuro said neutrally. "There are many in Parliament who would rather this not explode into another Ishbal. Besides, it was a logical conclusion for them to come to with the information they have. Colonel Elric was the one playing host to the Xing emissaries, and now he's in the hospital in critical condition. Not to mention the fact that the Minister of Defense took a bullet in the same fight. Of course they're going to come to that kind of a conclusion."

 

Hakuro had a point, one that Roy was almost loathe to admit. However, should the public decide that the Xing emissaries were the ones at fault, and if something happened to them while they were there...

 

"You do know that if the Xing emissaries are harmed that there could be full-scale war, Hakuro," Roy said. "We can't afford for that to happen, regardless of the fact that they were spying on us."

 

Hakuro nodded slowly. "We will have to have the Xing emissaries escorted out of the country as soon as possible, then."

 

"That would likely be the best course of action," Roy agreed, massaging his temples with his fingertips, fighting off a growing headache. "It will have to be done quietly, and before the public catches wind of it. Especially if the press has already released their very misinformed version of the story. We will also need to have an address ready for the press, just in case things get sketchy."

 

"I'll have the speech writer get on that," Hakuro offered.

 

Roy nodded gratefully; he wouldn't have the time – or likely the energy – to deal with that part as well, and part of him was grateful that Hakuro was stepping up to the task for him. Although the man could be nosy as hell, he was quite a handy ally.

 

Hakuro didn't seem to be finished speaking yet, however. "Minister, there is also another issue I'd like to speak with you about..."

 

Ah, there it was. The real headache. Roy knew then that he'd been too quick to assume that the General really wasn't going to bring this up after his brief display of teamwork. "General, I know you want to find out how the Elric brothers ended back up in Amestris so suddenly after having gone missing for all those years."

 

If Hakuro was trying to look as though he hadn't been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak, he failed horribly. Straightening in a flustered flurry, he cleared his throat. "It has been a matter of general concern, yes."

 

Roy resisted the urge to groan and complain of a sudden headache, but it would only make the situation look worse than it really was. As far as his own small investigation had gone, he could tell that neither Elric brother actually knew what had happened. There were indications of an outside influence on the situation – someone who clearly knew alchemy and had access to information on human transmutation, which didn't sit well with Mustang. This was something the alchemists should be handling, not a bureaucrat like Hakuro.

 

"I'm sorry, General Hakuro, but I can't really tell you much more than what the Elric brothers have already told you," he replied. "It seems that the evidence points to the fact that they had nothing to do with their own return."

 

"Where the hell did they go those four years, huh?" Hakuro pressed, clearly frustrated that his investigation was being parried once again. "If the Elric brothers had nothing to do with it, then why are you still protecting them?"

 

Roy caught Hakuro's fierce gaze with a cold one of his own. "That, my dear General, is something I cannot answer for them. As far as I can tell, they went somewhere that no one else could go. Personal hell, for all we know."

 

"You didn't answer  _why_."

 

"Because if I don't, nobody will, and you and your petty assumptions will needlessly put them in danger," Roy hissed. "If you had left the situation well enough alone, that issue probably would have been at the top of their investigation list once they stopped reeling from all the sudden changes we've managed to throw at them since. Instead, now you've got them thinking that any information they find on the situation will endanger them if they reveal it to us, and we've effectively been shut out of the damn loop." Roy pressed his fingers into his forehead as he paused. Hakuro wisely said nothing in the meantime. "You do know that this whole situation with Elric began when he stepped into that automail mechanic's shop because he couldn't get a hold of his own mechanic, right? He had shoddy prosthetics and wasn't left with a lot of options, not with the house arrest you threw at him the moment he came back."

 

Hakuro managed to look effectively cowed as he looked into his hands, folded in his lap; he really  _hadn't_ thought about that possibility, Roy suddenly realized with disgust. It made him regret that he'd let Hakuro take over the investigation. That should have been left to Brigadier General Alex Armstrong instead, especially considering he'd been the one to try to smooth the situation over with Lior around the time of the outsider invasion. Come to think of it, that had been the last time Roy had seen Fullmetal before his most recent return. Armstrong was technically under Hakuro's command, which was why Roy had assigned Hakuro the investigation in the first place. He had hoped Hakuro would pass it on to someone like Armstrong instead of keeping it for himself.

 

Suddenly, Hakuro looked up with a determined expression. "I understand what you're saying, Minister. I must apologize for my poor performance in this investigation, and am requesting that you have someone more capable take it over for me."

 

Roy's jaw nearly dropped. Hakuro was admitting to the fact that he had royally screwed up the investigation thus far?  _Hah._  There had to be some kind of catch, but Roy saw no games in the way Hakuro regarded him. Roy realized he must have said something that impressed Hakuro enough to finally acknowledge his position. Either that, or Hakuro finally saw how far in over his head he was. Now was as good of a time as any to nudge him in the right direction.

 

"General," Roy said in a placating tone, "you do have more than capable men under you who could handle the investigation. Instead of having me reassign it, why don't you save the face by passing it on to one of them? I would suggest you pass it on to someone who might have a better sense of alchemy."

 

Hakuro seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment before he replied, "I will take your advice into account, Minister."

 

"Is that all you had to discuss with me?" Roy asked, squirming. His shoulder was starting to ache; he finally got a glimpse at the clock and saw that he'd missed his last dose of painkillers by about half an hour.

 

Hakuro stood. "It is. I'm sorry to have intruded on you like this, Minister," he said, offering his hand out. "I truly do not wish to be antagonized further, especially since we all have the same goal in mind for Amestris."

 

One of Roy's eyebrows arched. "And that would be?"

 

"Peace," Hakuro said.

 

Hakuro did have a point – they really couldn't afford to have the newly-formed government pitting leaders against one another at such an early stage. Roy took his hand with a smile, wincing when Hakuro shook it a little too firmly. It was indeed time for his medication.

 

"Peace," Roy repeated, proud that he'd kept his voice even.

 

Hakuro released his hand, saluted, and then turned to leave. Roy slumped back into his chair, grimacing as his shoulder twinged in protest. Mere seconds after Roy heard Hakuro close the front door, Hawkeye was there with a fresh glass of water and his pain medication.

 

"You're a life-saver," Roy muttered as he took the pills and water from Hawkeye.

 

Hawkeye smiled. "I didn't want to interrupt; it sounded like an important conversation."

 

"Thank you," Roy said.  _For your better judgment,_ he added silently.

 

"Sir," she replied, understanding.


End file.
